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LIFE PICTURES 



OTHER POEMS 



-BY- 



Olin Winfield jPage. 



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NEW LONDON, CONN. 

1892. 



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Copyright, 1892, by Olin W. Page. 



This book is the product from employment 

of "spare moments," now and then, among the 

hours of a life, crowded full, it would seem, of 

busy and absorbing work. Some of it has been 

written in the sick-room, in intervals from severe 

pain. The thought was there conceived as a 

testimonial to kind friends in times when their 

gentle ministrations seemed God sent. But the 

work has grown upon me and I offer it to the 

public. May it bring to others in reading as 

much interest and pleasure as its preparation 

has given me. Many of the shorter poems 

have already been published in periodicals, 

but the greater part of the work is for the first 

time put forward. 

The Author. 



DEDICATION. 
To the members of the " Berean Society" 
of New London, Conn., whose companionship 
and aid have enabled me to grasp the secret 
of true living, and to the kind friends, who in the 
hour of sickness and bereavement have kindly 
and lovingly fulfilled the injunction to "bear 
one anothers' burdens," this book is affection- 
ately inscrilied by 

The Author. 



OOn^TElSTTS. 



Portrait of Author, - . - Frontispiece 

Preface. 

Dedication. 

PART I. 

The First Christmas Presents, - - 5 

Passing Through the Jordan, - - - 9 

Twilight and Dawn, - - . . 13 

"Sorrowful Yet Rejoicing," ... 18 

Thanksgiving Day, 1890, - - - 20 

Dreaming, - . - - - - 23 

Rest at His Feet, 25 

Hosanna to Our King, - - - - 27 

The Meaning of the Roses, - - - 29 

Song of the Redeemed, - - - - 32 

Give Me Your Hand, - . - . 35 

The Responsibility, 37 



2 

Faith Whispers, .... - 42 

The Wine Offering, 45 

PART II. 

Remarks, 51 

Life Pictures, 53 

Trot and Bennie, - - - - 56 

The Barefoot Girl, ... - 65 

The Brook Song, .... 68 

The Star on Her Brow, ... 75 

The Wife, 79 

The Old and the New, - - - 84 

The Death in the Forest, - - - 88 

Prelude, 88 

The Enlistment, - - - - 89 

The Black Horse, - - - 96 

The Return, - - - - 100 

Marriage, - - . - - 104 

Off to Kansas. - - - - 114 

The Western Home, - - 117 

The Flight, .... 119 

Again in New Hampshire, - 128 

Vacation Rambles, . . - I30 

Legend of Joe English, - - 134 



3 

CONTENTS. 

Life Pictures. {Continued.) 

Saved from Death, - - - 137 

Changes, 139 

Kevenge, 146 

The First Love Again, - - 149 

Eonald's Grave, - - - - 157 

Postlude, 158 

OTHER MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Misconception, 163 

Going for the Cow, . - - . 165 

"He Will Give Grace and Glory," - - 168 

Beautiful Lips, 169 

The Class Meeting, 172 

The Message of Prayer, - - - 174 

Elfie's Letter, 177 

The Indwelling Christ, - - - - 179 

Death of Baby, 181 

Evening Rest, 184 

The Year Is Dying, 187 

The Bride of Day, - - - " ^90 



THE FIRST CHRISTMAS PRESENTS. 



"Red like crimson, made like snow;' 
'Tis the work of Saviour born 

In the far-off Bethlehem 
On a lovely Christmas morn. 

Looking at the crimson berries, 
In their ruddy, glossy sheen, 

Peeping out amid the festoons 
Of the twining evergreen ; 

And then glancing from the window 
At the white and spotless snow. 

As I sit in warmth and comfort 
Of the firelight's pleasant glow. 

How a vision comes before me 
Of a child in manger laid ; 

Of the first God-given Christmas, 
Ere an awful debt was paid ; 



6 

And the shrieking of the storm-king, 
Whirling snow wreaths round the wall, 

Dies away to eastern breezes, 
Swaying leaves of palm trees tall. 

Then I see a baby nestled. 

Just the same as any child, 
Where a mother's eye is resting, 

Sweet and tender, pure and mild. 

Sheltered only by a stable. 
From whose rafters cobwebs hung. 

Wisps of straw the flooring littered. 
Careless left where dropped or tiuug. 

Not the place for suff' ring mother. 

Not the place for baby boy, 
But the Christ came poor and lowh'', 

Not life's riches to enjoy. 

But a star was shining o'er it, 
Silver bright it beaming hung, 

While the earth and heaven were ringing 
With the songs the angels sung. 



Then I see three wayworn trav'lers, 
Long their beards, they're wise and old, 

But the first of gifts they're bringing, 
Of frankincense, myrrh and gold. 

And the first of Christmas presents 
That the world has ever known, 

Are, by the wisest of people, 
At the feet of Christ laid down. 

These the lessons I am learning, 
Through the ages handed down : 

That the best, most joyous Christmas, 
We shall find through Christ alone ; 

There was sweetness, there was fragrance, 

In this offering of old, 
Mingled with the strong endurance 

Of the tried and shining gold. 

Now I see, for little children. 
For the weak ones of the earth, 

There are gifts, which we bestowing, 
Are to Christ of priceless worth. 



O the gifts of love, with loving 
Reaching out of helping hands ; 

Blessed giving, blest receiving, 
Christmas gifts in Christian lands. 

80 I wish you all a Christmas, 
Glad and merry, I am sure ; 

Very fragrant, e'en its memories. 
And as gold undim'd and pure. 




PASSING THROUGH THE JORDAN. 



Yes, my Lord, I hear Thy voice, 

Calling for full surrender, 
And I will no longer strive 

'Gainst love so strong and tender ; 

Thou art speaking to my soul. 

And Thy words with fire are wreathed, 
Bowing down before Thy Spirit 

What a longing prayer is hreathed : — 

" Thou hast loved me with love 

Everlasting Thou hast said, 
Through the wilderness didst guide me. 

Out of depths Thy hand hath led. 

" I am weaker than the weakest, 
Thou art mighty, strong to hold; 

Let Thine arms be underneath me, 
Surely, safely me enfold. 



10 

" Now I feel Thee close beside me, 
And Thy hand is clasping mine ; 

In Thy paths O lead and guide me, 
To Thy truth my heart incline. 

" Take me, loving Saviour, take me I 

Consecrated ! O my King ! 
Show me now some little message 

How to carry, or to bring 

" From this well of Thy salvation 
Water pure and sweet and clear, 

That the thirsting ones may drink it 
While mv Saviour draws them near." 




11 



PRAY FOR ME. 



Pray for me? 
When the stars are gleaming 
In the silence of the night, 
List'ning angels watch to gather 
Threads of gold and pearls of light : 
Precious jewels in His sight! 
Threads of gold thy prayers are woven 

Into cords, whose strength shall be 
Far beyond death's hand to sever, 
Strong for good, their power w^e'll see 
Meeting in eternity. 

Pray for me! 
In the gath'ring twilight, 

As the mystic shadows fall 
O'er the loveliness of nature, 

God will hear your softest call; 

He who heeds the sparrow's fall. 



12 

Golden cords are strong! 3' woven, 
Though a prayer is but a thread ; 

God of love, we bow before Him, 
Without fear and without dread, 
For the Saviour's hand has led. 

Pray for me I 
When the golden sunshine 

Fills the morn with sparkling light, 
Then the dewdrops are like tear drops 
Shed against the powers of night ; 
Prayerful tears are pearls of light. 
Charge o'er us His angels given. 

Tears and prayers, e'en heart-throbs known, 
Golden threads and glist'ning jewels, 
Earnest pleadings at the throne ; 
He will hold us, all His own. 



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13 



TWILIGHT AND DAWN. 



Have you stood beside a brooklet 
In the shadows of the night ? 

Heard the voices of the waters 
As tliey take their phantom flight? 

Has the beauty of the cadence, 

As it trembled on the air, 
Woke within your heart a longing, 

Brought to life an earnest prayer? 

Has a presence, grim and solemn, 
Spoken of a past that's gone. 

As you listened to the rippling 
Of the waters pressing on ? 

Did you seek, and in the seeking 
Know that God was brooding there? 

Was the scene, though darkly shrouded, 
To your senses passing fair? 



J4 

If you've seen it as I've seen it, 

If 3'oii know it as I know, 
Ere the dawning comes upon it, 

Kindling into life and glow ; 

Though the night scene holds a beauty. 
And a presence, felt and known, 

Of a God who surely loves you. 
Who would claim you for His own ; 

Though the stars are shining o'er you, 
Gem-like in the sky of night, 

Yet there comes an eager longing 
For a fuller, clearer sight. 

God be praised when day is breaking, 
Backward rolled the glooms of night, 

And a richer, thrilling beauty, 
Sun-touched, glows with golden light 

Fresh'ning zephyrs breathe around you. 
Fragrant laden by the flowers, 

AVhere the dewdrops, lovely tear drops, 
Gathered in the darker hours ; 



15 

When the songs of praise are swelling, 
Thrilling, on the trembling air, 

When you join the feathered songsters 
Praises singing, filled with prayer : — 

For your heart holds deep communion 
With the loving heart of God, 

And the w^ay that once seemed dreary, 
Which vour feet but sadly trod, 



By the waters murm'ring low. 
When your lips reach down and touch them, 
Ready for their cooling flow ; 

All the mists and all the darkness 

Surely vanished, fled away, 
In the bright, the lovely dawning 

Of a pure and gladsome day. 

Thus our lives; God surely leads us 

AVhere the living waters flow. 
And w^here once we walked 'mid shadows 

There is earnest life and glow. 



1() 

As we bow to take the waters, 
Thirsting for the pure and good, 

We are ever higher reaching 
For true man or womanhood. 

May the Son be ever shining 
Through the life which now we live, 

If come trials, if come sorrows, 
Still His peace He'll always give ; 

And we'll know, as we are treading 
In the path that He has trod, 

That our steps are heavenward tending, 
Safely guided by His Word. 

God is with us, earnest seeker. 

In each faithful, loving life. 
In our w^illing rounds of duty. 

Out of self and free from strife. 

If uncaring or unloving. 
Those who see us in the way. 

Still, with faith in Christ unbounded, 
We will press on day by day ; 



17 

For we love our Lord far better 
Than the joy the world can bring, 

And each day our prayers are rising 
To our Saviour, to our King, 

That He'll lead us safely onward, 
That He'll bless us in the way, 

For His arms to safe enfold us. 
Faithful hearts, with Him to stay. 

Ah ! Those prayers shall ne'er cease rising, 
For our hearts His presence know. 

And our faith unseals the Fountain 
AVhence the living waters flow. 




18 



'" SORROWFUL, YET REJOICING." 



Tears of sorrow, hours of sadness, 
Heavy mourning blent with gladness, 
Sometimes this the world calls madness. 

Hopes of years may pass away, 
Sunlight's gold be lost in gray, 
But Christ's love we have alway. 

Where the rainbow's arch is gleaming. 
Storm-clouds were with lightnings streaming, 
But the sun behind was beaming. 

Through the tears that we have known, 
Has His rainbow ever shone, 
Light of promise fiiUer grown. 

'Mid tiie showers fresh and vernal, 
In the light of life eternal, 
In this glow of light supernal. 



19 

Hath the soul found deepest cahiis, 
Though 'mid sorrows and alarms, 
In the Everlasting: Arms. 



20 



THANKSGIVING DAY, 1890. 



There's a voice of praise in our home to-day, 
The silence is broken, clouds rolled away ; 
The voice of a wife in pleading of prayer, 
As sweetest of music now floats on the air ; 
And the daughter's voice, too, clear and low- 
toned, 
Acknowledges Him whom her heart has en- 
throned. 



The spell of stillness thro' years that are past 
Has been broken by prayer, God's power at 

last, 
Unsealed lips that were dumb. Beaming eyes 
And accents of love speak the soul's Paradise, 
Resting in Jesus and owning His sway ; 
Together we praise Him this glorious day. 



21 

The smile of the sun rests down on the 

earth, 
The rivers blue waves are dancing with 

mirth ; 
And o'er its waters in circles of light 
Are bright, glancing wings of seagulls in 

flight ; 
Lewis' Woods, too, in its brightest array 
Meets with the river to welcome the day. 



Gold flecks the shadows 'neath each arching 

tree; 
Light crests each wave flowing down to the 

sea; 
In each sheltered nook the deepest of green 
Of the hardy grass-blade still may be seen ; 
J^oftly it nods in a sweet, loving way, 
Glad that its Maker has saved till this dav. 



While the sun shines down on the thankful 

earth. 
And the light shines in at each soul's new 

birth, 



22 

With thankful hearts, in song, blessing and 

prayer, 
We are praising the Lord for tender care ; 
Thankful for bounty that before us is spread, 
Thankful for ways in which His hand led. 

Thankful for life and the blessing of health ; 
Very thankful for love, hearts' precious 

wealth ; 
Thankful for Jesus, who comes to abide ; 
O thankful to Him whate'er may betide ! 
Thankful to Father and thankful to Son, 
Revealed by His Spirit to hearts that are one. 




23 



DREAMING. 



When wandering into Dreamland, 

Oft I have crossed its magic strand ; 

Seen its meadows, flower tufted, 

Heard its purling brooklets flowing. 

Seen its mystic light, weird glowing ; 

Then, in that fair realm, the life mysterious 

Sent the warm blood bounding, pulsing 

Thrilling into joy delirious 

When I saw its shifting glories ; 

As in childhood, of Fairyland, 

I have read in ancient stories. 

Or to deeper feeling tended, 

As if earth -life here was ended, 

Nothing left to weigh me down ; 

Worldly laws seemed not around me, 

Earthly forces no more bound me. 

Time and space were nought in Dreamland ; 



24 

Into moments years were blending, 
Fast were scenes or ages ending ; 
As in Sahara's desert land 
Before the simoom flees the sand ; 
Where only plain was stretching wide, 
And where was seen but level way. 
Rolled billows, like an ocean's tide. 
Or mountains heaped, or valleys lay. 

Many, rich and rare the visions 

'Neath nights' starlight have been wrought. 

Many hopes have found fruition 

That by day were vainly sought. 

As the morning's light to nought 

Makes its glories only seeming, 

Is this life but only dreaming 

When the present rolls away 

And to-day be yesterday? 

When our life from us is fleeting 

As the fabric of a dream. 

Do we, will we seek a meeting 

In the dawn beyond the stream? 

M. 



25 



REST AT HIS FEET. 



God hold thee, dear friend, that the light He 

has given, 
Unclonded shall shine in the depths of thy 

heart ! 
Now fallen from thee is each chain He hath 

riven. 
For asking His wisdom to thee He'll impart. 

Rest thee, dear friend, He has promised His 

guiding, 
Just rest thee and trust in His promises 

sweet ; 
If He asks thee to stay, how blest in abiding, 
Drawn close to His side or to sit at His feet. 

Wait thee, dear friend, 'twas a Mary that 

listened. 
Reclining and still, but w^ith heart deeply 

stirred ; 



26 

Pure, earnest eyes, that were love lit, soft 
glistened. 

As His gracious lips dropped each promise- 
linked word. 

Many, dear friend, are the Marthas, to please 

Him 
Burdened with care; hut still nearer His 

heart 
Are the Marys that wait till " Go ! " He has 

bid them. 
For chosen by them is the far better part. 

Remember, dear friend, thy sky may be 

darkened. 
Yet sheltered there wait, rest in His care 

to-day. 
Trust in the Word to which thy soul 

hearkened ; 
From the sun of His love shall each cloud 

flee awav. 




27 



HOSANNA TO OUR KING, 



Christ, the Saviour, poor and lowly, 
Full of meekness, pure and holy, 

He, the Son of God, a King ! 
Bright the Star-gem of the East 
Down from heaven sheds its peace, 
AVith a glory ne'er to cease, 

As the angel voices sing. 

Children of the Lord, our King, 
Shout your praises, shout and sine 
Wake the music ! Louder ring 
Glad Hosannas to our King! 

Hosanna ! Hosanna ! 
Hosanna to our King! 

When the world, in darkness dwelling. 
Palms were waving, shouts were swelling 



28 

AVelcome as an earthly king ; 
Then the garden soil was wet 
With the anguished, bloody sweat, 
Falling down on Olivet, 

Our deliverance to bring. 

Crucified, the Lord of glory 

Saves from sin, the old, sweet story. 

Templed in our hearts He dwells 
Eastern palm and western palm. 
Loving tendrils intertwine. 
Branches of the one True Vine, 

And His praise now richly swells. 




29 



THE MEANING OF THE ROSES. 



Written for the Festival of Roses, held by 
the children of the Cheerful Givers' Mission 
Band of New I,ondon, Conn., June, i8gi. 



Dear to us are the sweet wild flowers, 
The blossoms of gardens, too ; 

From the peeping pink. 

Whose life is to drink, 
The drops of the morning dew. 

To the cast-down eye 

Of the summer sky, 
In the violet's petals blue. 



Sweet to us are the scented flowers. 
In their fragrance fresh and bright ; 
For these blossoms fair 
Tell of loving care 
Of Him who robes them with light 



30 

Yes ! from garden and grove 
They are speaking of love : 
God's love ! listen to them to-night. 



Though sweet are the blossoms of May, 
Yet richer the budding June ; 

For the roses come, 

To answer the hum. 
When wild bees their strains attune ; 

Then these roses red, 

Say blood has been shed, 
And the way to heaven is shown. 



Roses pink are blushing for you 
Who His loving teachings shun 

He wants you to-day 

To go in His way, 
The wa}' of the Crucified One ; 

Your feet should be light. 

The path shineth bright, 
Not only to walk but to run. 



31 

Roses white tell of cleansing from sin, 
Of a heart unwilling to roam ; 

Of a satisfied rest 

On the Saviour's breast ; 
His voice invites you to come ; 

Of heaven's own gate, 

Where the angels wait. 
Rejoicing to welcome you home. 




SONG OF THE REDEEMED. 



When I sought God's grace for pardon 

For my foul and loathsome sin, 
Then through Christ, our full Atonement, 

Faith I found to enter in ; 
And the peace of full forgiveness 

Had I, trusting in His Word ; 
Then my heart grew soft and tender 

At the coming of my Lord. 

There is cleansing, there is healing, 
In the precious, precious blood ; 

Thus I found it; yes! I found them 
When I gave up all to God. 

Jesus, blessed Saviour, freed me 

From a sad and weary load, 
Called me lovingly and sweetly 

To a pure, a blest abode ; 



83 

And I gladly, so gladly, 
Followed as I heard the call, 

Followed Him where'er He lead me, 
Followed Him, mv all in all. 



In the first, the blessed leading 

Of His love, I felt so near, 
There was naught to mar my comfort. 

And my soul was void of fear; 
But I found as on I journeyed 

In the paths where thorns were strown. 
Coward fears were yet within me, 

And my lips would sometimes moan. 



Yes! I found that inward strivings. 

Fears and outward alarms 
Ever marred the blest abiding. 

Or sweet resting in His arms ; 
And I prayed, I cried to Jesus, 

On His breast my head to lean. 
Pure my heart to make and holy. 

For the blood to keep me clean. 



34 

O the willing, loving resting 

I have found in Him to dwell ; 
() the bliss of surely trusting 

That He doeth all things well ; 
O the blessed, blessed fullness 

Of the love so freely given ; 
O such joy and peace, a foretaste 

Of eternal life, of heaven. 

Yes ! I'm trusting, He is keeping. 
Surely cleanseth me the blood. 

And the Spirit is abiding. 

As He promised in His Word. 




35 



GIVE ME YOUR HAND, 



"Is thine heart right, as my heart is with tliy 
heart? * * * If it be, give me tliine liand."— 
II Kings, 10:15. 

If the Saviour has redeemed you, 

If you're walking in the light, 
Shall we coldly pass each other? 

Do you even think it right? 
If the fault is yours, unthinking, 

Tlien you've left good seed unsown, 
If the pressure and the clinging 

Of your helping liand's unknown. 

Has Christ called you to His vineyard? 

Has He washed you in His blood? 
Has He whispered, "My beloved?" 

Are you trusting in His Word? 
Then should not our hands in meeting 

Show the common tie of love 
Out of pure hearts, having meaning 

Of rejoicing from above ? 



86 

There is strength and there is blessing, 

In the Christian path to-day, 
As our hands shall meet together 

While we're passing on our way. 
Many times has Christ released souls, 

Bound in darkness of the night, 
When the key was given in clasping 

Of the hand that let in light. 

Pledge your hand unto the Master 

That it freely may reach forth. 
With no fear of loss or soiling, 

Without question of world-worth; 
Reach and clasp in cordial greeting 

All who are within His call. 
Let Him own it and you use it, 

Strength'ning many, lest they fall. 

Should the chain of fashion's forging 

Bind the souls His blood has freed ? 
Should the laws of social standing 

Blind the eyes to Christians' need ? 
Will you then withhold the resting 

Of your faithful hand in mine. 
While we all need help and banding 

In this march to life divine? 



37 



THE RESPONSIBILITY. 



There's a conflict ever raging, 
There's a hard and bitter strife 

In the war that sin is waging 
'Gainst the good of every life. 

Periled ones are standing, laughing, 
On the brink of woe and death; 

Heedless, as they're gaily quaffing 
Of their wine, with songs and mirth, 

Of the many sad hearts bleeding, 
Of lives lost to those who love. 

Of the many lips whose pleading 
Falt'ring cries to Him above. 

For the drink-curse ever sweeping, 
Like a licensed, pois'ning flood. 

Fills our land with anguished weeping ; 
Its bloated hand, stained with blood. 



88 

Ever signing deeds of quitclaim 

To its master, fiend of hell, 
For souls wrecked, for lives lost in shame, 

While men say they're doing well. 

Doing well I "Where is thy brother?" 
Hear that voice that's sounding now? 

Are you keeper of another? 

Is the Cain-mark on your l)row? 

"Am I," will you God thus answer, 
" My brother's keeper ? " So said 

Cain, You for this moral cancer 
Vote, though thus you strike him dead. 

I'm not alone, you say? This hear, 
" His blood crieth from the ground ! " 

" The sin is in the heart ! " Thus near 
To you sentence may be found. 

Doing well? O may God forgive 
Those who know not what they do ! 

Blinded ones who voicing license live. 
Filling other lives witli woe. 



39 

O for men who love souls better 
Than great stores of glitt'ring pelf; 

Men who dare break every fetter, 
Though the cost be death to self. 

Men who dare to vote as freemen, 
And yet dare not shirk the right; 

. Men who lift up voice as Stephen, 

Seeing Christ, though stoned for sight. 



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HEART ECHOES OF MUSIC, 



Dear friend, there are touches and thrilhngs 

of music, 
Chords that answer the hand of the loving 

Father, 
Strings never swept save l)y the hreath of the 

Spirit ; 
Not Hke a wind-harp, wav'ring with strains 

wild and vagrant, 
Now softly throbbing, trembling with joy 

exstatic. 
As when perfumed breeze floats near a sum- 
mer sunset. 
And yet again shrieking or sobbing or 

wailing 
In the rougher breathings of autumn or 

winter. 
The strings that are kept for the use of the 
• Maker, 



41 

Shall thrill with the gladness of touches 

eternal, 
Joy and peace, deep, full, like an ocean's 

inflowing, 
Making music forever, and faith abiding 
Shall cast out remembrance and live in the 

present ; 
Live in the fullness of the Spirit's indwelling. 
Resting, sweet resting, in Arms Everlasting, 
Being obedient, in full consecration. 
The holiest entered, the veil rent asunder, 
'Neath the blood of the sprinkling, the High 

Priest our Saviour. 




42 



FAITH WHISPERS. 



Could I see as see the angels, 

And write with more than mortal fire, 

Still an unworthy transcription 
Of a theme that ever is higher. 

What do the angels feel of salvation ? 

They were never redeemed like me! 
Surely they know not the priceless afltection 

Of Jesus, who died on the tree. 

"Glory to God in the highest" is ringing, 
" Peace on earth, good will toward men I " 

For those in the shadow of death, and in 
darkness. 
The great light is shining now, as then. 

" Blessed are they who have not seen," 
And vet believe in Christ, our Lord ; 



43 

Blessed are they who walk with Him, 
Doing the things of Holy Word. 

Will you look for signs and wonders now? 

Grasp, then, for the faith that will save, 
And reach out for those now in sin. 

Until saved from death in the grave. 

Do you think the time of miracles past? 

Look you I See His redeeming grace 
In peace, that comes from newness of heart, 

Loving God, it beams from the face. 



Abiding in Christ, and He in us. 
Pray the prayer that He has given : — 

" Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done 
In earth, as it is in heaven," 



Then go forth with a brave, true heart, 
In which their meaning is fully shrined 

Then live your life, doing your part. 
And the kingdom of God vou'll find 



44 

Is ever still nearer growing, 
Nearer to earth again the strain 

Ringing through heavenly courts above, 
As it onee rang on Bethlehem's plain. 




45 



THE WINE OFFERING, 



"In the holy place shalt thou cause the strong 
wine to be poured unto the Lord for a drink 
offerinsr."— Nu3r. 2S : 7. 



God, to Thee our hearts incHne, 

That we may pour the strong, sweet wine 

Out in the holy place; 
An off' ring meet for Thee we'd bring, 
Our God, our Saviour and our King, 

Then fill us with Thy grace. 



We would not, O Thou Holy One, 
Offer to Thee, as to Thy Son 

Was offered at the cross, 
A bitter draught ; myrrh with the wine ; 
Deceiving man, not the Divine, 

To our eternal loss. 



46 

If manhood, full and brimming up 
With wine of life, shall fill the cup, 

The wine of strength or grace; 
Earnest heart, obedient will. 
The best of our manhood for Thee still, 

Thine in the holy place. 

If woman's hand with woman's grace, 
Potent for good or to deface, 

The chalice full shall hold ; 
Loving of heart, with fervent glow. 
Thy purest service hers to know. 

Hers not to mar but mould. 

Not mixed with bitter worldly strife, 
Nor with fashion's frivolous life, 

Nor under passion's sway ; 
For sensuous life we would not plan. 
We would glorify Thee, not man, 

The wine poured sweet each day. 

To Thee to give our first and best. 
In Thee our hearts to fully rest. 
Kept by Thy given grace ; 



47 



Service of love to pour strong wine 
From choicest fruit, strength of the Vine, 
Sweet in the holy place. 

Ah ! the branches that closest cling 
To the life-giving Vine, and spring 

Freed from the crimson stain, 
Laden with fruit shall bear for Thee 
Still through time and eternity 

An ofF'ring to remain. 




^aTi %% 







-^ 





LIFE PICTURES. 









51 



e.e]v:jPle.k:s. 



In this poem, or what might be more cor- 
rectly, i^erhaps, be designated as " poems within 
a poem," I have not sought to tell the story of 
my life, but only to bring out some of the 
scenes and scenery my memory dwells upon in 
retracing the experiences of former days. I 
have tried to delineate their characteristics 
faithfully, and as they were seen when my life 
was among them. I have not taken much 
advantage of the poet's liberty of change, for I 
have wished to be true both to nature and to 
life. The only places I could be charged with 
doing so is where I have used the words lakelet 
or lake. 

It is well-known that among the dwellers 
of northern New England, and in New Hamp- 
shire, especially, every body of still water is 
called a pond if it is not very large, indeed. 
Thus Winnipiseogee is called a lake, for it is a 
large body of fresh water where steamers can 
run over a course of thirtv miles, but Massabe- 



52 

sic, until lately, has been called a pond, though 
well entitled to be dignified with the title of a 
lake, for it is about twenty-seven miles around 
it, and steamers run eight miles in almost a 
direct course. Why it sliould have borne the 
name of Massabesic Pond so long without ques- 
tion no one knows. Many other really pictur- 
esque little lakes are called ponds. In other 
countries they would have some beautiful or 
worthy name terminated with the word lake. 

The names Mosquito Pond, Harvey's Pond, 
Nutt's Pond, Joe English Pond, do not convey 
the right or a fair idea of these beautiful little 
gem lakes, set in as lovely scenes as one could 
wish to feast their eyes upon. 

In Florida the reverse is known, as it was 
quaintly expressed by a resident of New 
Hampshire on returning from a long sojourn in 
the South, " everything in the way of a body 
of still water as big as a kitchen floor is called a 
lake." 

I have tried, tlierefore, to convey the true 
idea without regard to the local designation. 

The Author. 



53 



LIFE PICTURES. 



On the wall^J of ineni'ry's chamber, painted 

by a master's hand ; 
Not the pictured scenes of fancy in a bright, 

ethereal land; 
Not a scenic artist's copy, where effect is 

skillful shown, 
Only by a shallow seeming of a way not fully 

known ; 
But the scenes of life's own tracing, clear and 

sharji in every stroke. 
Showing there the deepest meaning where the 

brightest light has broke. 
By the boldness of their showing 'gainst the 

densest shadows' play, 
As the somber gloom of woodland clearest 

outlines the midday. 



54 

Should 1 fail, not skilled in tracing, all these 

lines to reproduce, 
Still I wish to bring a pleasure, may they 

also have a use ; 
And though simple, although rough-hewn, 

many scenes to you may seem. 
Still they had their birth in real life, not the 

web and woof of dream ; 
And when viewing you may tind there, woven 

in among the lines, 
AVords and thoughts of earnest meaning, 

pregnant of the aftertime^, 
Should there, then, no deeper feeling than 

poetic thought be stirred, 
Let them fade as all things earth-born, sinking 

down like wounded bird. 



Though the wings of fiincy's pluming far out- 
speeds the eagle's flight. 

If they soar not in the sunlight they will end 
in darkest night; 

If romance holds forth a false light, it shines 
out amid the gloom. 



55 

Still it dances o'er corruption, leading only to 

the tomb ; 
Glim'ring out from dark morasses, where the 

trav'lers lose their way, 
Fading, dying if you hold it in the light of 

present day ; 
Then e'en realities trifles may outweigh this 

film of air; 
Still a twining spray from fancy forms a 

wreath exceeding fair. 



Let me, now, before your vision bring one 
happy summer day. 

Just one day of peaceful resting, on a toil- 
some, weary way ; 

Happy day of happy meaning, like a star of 
light to me, 

Shining out upon the waters of a bitter, rest- 
less sea ; 

For the chafing, tossing, throbbing of my life 
was stilled that day, 

Like tlie peaceful, sunlit lakelet, 'neath the 
sky of blue and gray. 



56 

On whose shores I stood in castiim' out the 

woven fishino line, 
Wliile sweet nature Hushed with beauty, like 

a love- won, tender sign : — 

TROT AND BENiME. 



When I watched the bright'nin» morning, 

Felt its bounding pulses thrill, 
Saw it shoot its golden arrows, 

Quiv'ring o'er each Granite hill ; 
Then the veiled and night-bound forest, 

Whisp'ring stirred to meet the <lav, 
Waking up the cradled songsters, 

Crowding fast each sweet-toned lay. 

Then I heard the wood lark singing 

With the flitting chickadee. 
And I heard him swiftly mounting, 

Boldly whistling, fast and free, 
AVhile the bol^olink was calling, 

Calling to him yet again, 
Till a thousand other pipings 
Filled each woodland, field and glen. 



57 

Far behind us in the distance, 

In their royal purple hue, 
Rising, melting all their sharp lines 

Into haze of azure blue, 
Were the brothers Uncanoonuc, 

Side by side, so stately, fair. 
With their tree-crowns in the sunlight 

Drinking in the mountain air. 

At their feet lay farms and houses. 

In a yet unbroken rest; 
This we saw in glancing backward. 

Swelling, lifting in the west. 
We had left the streets and pavements, 

Left them all behind, ftir back; 
Left the noisy, busy city. 

Close beside the Merrimack ; 

Whose swift, onward-flowing waters. 

Tending ever to the sea, 
Is a restless type and emblem 

Of the city's heart to me. 
City of the whirring spindles. 

Of the manv woven strands. 



58 

Where the weary mill-girls toiling, 
Straying thoughts but busy hands, 

Sad have seen their life-dreams fading 

With the roses of their clieeks. 
While the endless shuttles' clicking 

Tolled the hours and days and weeks, 
A funeral bell, whose striking 

Was a knell where hope had flown. 
Drowning songs that still would well up 

In its loud, harsh monotone. 

City full of hurrying trathc, 

Grasping gain and heavy loss ; 
Shops where metal red and flaming 

Soon would frame the iron horse. 
Part and unit of the city. 

On this day I gladly flee, 
Leaving all your dust and worry, 

From vour trammels to be free. 



Happy morning ! golden dawning ! 
Lons-drawn shadows crossed the wav 



59 

But with hopeful steps and eager 
Pressing toward the fuller day ; 

Breasting up the sloping hillsides, 
Sun -shot valleys passing through, 

Drinking in the scented nectar 
Of the roses wet with dew. 

Oh ! the sweetness of that morning 

Makes the pulses throb and leap, 
Even in the dear recalling. 

In memory's backward sweep, 
As again I see a lakelet 

Shining low among the hills. 
Green-fringed shores and pebbly beaches 

Broken by the trickling rills. 

Clearer still I see a maiden 

Standing by my side that day. 
Better pleased to give a pleasure 

Than engage in childhood's play ; 
Sunny eyes, whose depth and softness 

Borrowed were from heaven's deep blue. 
Ambient hair, whose clust'ring richness 

Blent with a^old a tawny hue. 



60 

Have you seen a child unselfish, 

Ever thoughtful for another, 
Full of tender ways of caring 

As a faithful, loving mother; 
Just a little eight years' darling, 

Taking up with sweetest grace 
Duties, with a glad assuming. 

That care-line many a face. 

For I see a crippled brother, 

Happy, earnest, loving, too. 
Just as true in willing service. 

In his way, to plan and do. 
Then this sister, lightly tripping, 

Was his own, untiring feet, 
Ever quick to do his bidding, 

In her maiden way so sweet. 

Joyous Bennie, happy Bennie, 

With this gentle sister rare, 
Teaching now a heart-deep lesson 

With your patient, watchful care; 
Ah ! you know not how your weakness 

Helped a weaker one that day, 



61 

How your kindness and your loving 
Yet once more lit up my way. 

With the little maiden near me, 

Where the ripples kissed her feet, 
I had asked her what her name was, 

" Trot," she said, with manner sweet ; 
" But another name, you surely. 

Must have had?" I said and thought 
" Yes, my name is Nellie," said she, 

" But they always call me Trot." 

And this name of homely seeming 

She had shrined with happy thought, 
In its best and deepest meaning, 

And she loved the name of "Trot." 
Ever ready, ever willing, 

Forward not, but quick to know% 
And her work of love was motion. 

Moving quickly to and fro. 

When the noonday sun was sending 
Down its yellow, heated glare, • 



C2 

And the broad-leafed corn was 1)ending, 
Rolling 'neath its wilting power, 

In the country barn we rested, 
Doors flung wide at either end ; 

New mown haj^ its life exhaling, 
To the breezes fragrance lend. 

There to us \xas brought the fruitage 

Red and ripe, strawberries rare, 
Kindly sent to help our luncheon, 

In our little maiden's care. 
Then she fed her teasing pet crows. 

Two, with callow life endued. 
Scarcely ceasing in their crying 

While they swallowed down their food. 

Bread and milk she swiftly fed them, 

Filled each wide distended beak, 
Till at last they sank to silence. 

Satisfied, their rest to seek. 
Fast the time passed till the sunset 

Burned the life out of the day ; 
When we parted promised meeting, 

Nevermore to meet that wav. 



03 

Perliaps, in painting this day, I have failed 

in color or tone ; 
Perhaps, I have laid too great a stress on 

what these children done ; 
But children e'er have greatest part in this 

world of ours to-day ; 
The lesson of trust and hope that's given, is 

childhood's simple way : 
Have you not read the prophet's words, in 

the old scripture story, 
Where the meaning shines through, so true, 

the coat of allegory ? 
I low the wolf and lamb, the leopard and kid, 

and rav'ning lion, too, 
Side by side should lie 'mid pasture sweet, 

where peaceful waters tlow ; 



The hand obeyed, the hand to lead, 'tis that 

of a little child. 
But it changes them all as they come at His 

call, not one is wild ; 
And in the teaching is brought to us, in 

simple trust to know, 



64 

The kingdom of God is entered in as children 

only do ; 
And out of the mouth of children, too, the 

scriptures fully teach. 
Perfected praise to Him was raised, and His 

heart did surely reach ; 
So the way and sowing of love, l)y this true 

sister and brother. 
Was early known, and joyfully sown, preferring 

one another. 



Just now, a simple, outline sketch, all un- 
shaded, I will bring, 

It is of a rustic maid when her life was a 
lightsome thing. - 

Oh ! could we see in our sunny youth, what 
future years shall show, 

Our hearts would stand still at the coming ill 
and shadow of woe ; 

And could I have seen years ago, when these 
lines were lightly drawn, 

The lowering cloud to blacken that life, at 
the threshold of dawn, 



Would I have beckoned her hack, and with 

daring kindness to warn 
Have swept the blooming flowers aside, un- 

luaskino- tlie cruel thorn '.' 



THE BAREFOOT GIRL. 



Where the willow's plumes are waving 
Light and feath'ry in the breeze; 

Where the music of the waters 
Rippling plays beneath the trees; 



Where the sun, with diamond sparkles, 
Glistens on the wavelet's c-rown. 

There a barefoot maiden wanders 
In the brooklet, up and down. 



Care-free and light-hearted maiden, 
Where the dancing waters flow, 

Iteming there is joy in living 
In imi>assioned summer's glow; 



m 

Maiden, conninof o'ev life's lesson 

In its first and fairest look, 
Idly straying, in your playing, 

In the waters of the brook ; 

As the Avaters of the brooklet 

Fast into the river iiow. 
So your maidenhood is passing 

Into woman's life and glow. 

Barefoot maiden, now life's sunshine 
Brightly plays upon your brow, 

Let your lips be true and truthful, 
And your , heart but pureness know. 

Though life's lesson fraught with sorrow 
Sadly sometimes may be wrought, 

Let each day be ever bringing 
AVorthy gain in deed and thought. 

The scenes of my youth the brook shines 
through, like threads of silver gleam, 

Tlie tangled glen of the past is seen, a sweet 
but far-off dream ; 



The thickets, the plains, the dusky woods^ 
where laughing waters glide, 

Or dimple and swirl, or silently steal by the 
grassy side ; 

In daring play it leaps from the rocks, 
show'ring a thousand gems, 

And the cascade laughs a tinkling peal, wash- 
ing each trunk and stem 

Of tree and flower, whose life is fed by the 
flying crystal spra}, 

And tlie long, rank grass, a drooping plume, 
'tis swaying night nnd dav. 



I've seen the babl)ling waters run o'er the 

the yellow sands at noon, 
I've heard its weird and mystic tones under 

the sheen of the moon ; 
Known it when the golden glory crimson 

flushed the sky of June, 
When its chords of nmrm'rous music with 

the blackbird's were attuned ; 
Seen it in the wild December, lying fettered, 
- cold and still, 



Jint its heart beneath was throl>l»ing with the 

old, impetuous will ; 
Then I heard it loudly roaring when the 

south wind set it free ; 
And in all its moods I loved it, and it gave 

its song to me : — 

THE BROOK SONG. 



Silver drops and crystal spray, 

Stop your crowding and flying this wa}' I 

Be very quiet a uK^ment, I say ! 

For I'm sure I saw a spotted trout 

Softly stealing in and out 

Among the rocks of gray and pearl, 

Below the place where we dance and whirl ; 

AVe'll press his sides in a fondling way ; 

He's very shy of our boist'rous play ; 

We'll wash his spots till they gleam and glow 

Bright on his armor of silver, you kn(^w. 

In the softened light of the pool, 
Watching, half sleeping, dreamy and cool, 
P>ut (juickly alert, for he's no fool; 



69 

On orange-red fin he'H poising nigh 
Seeing the foam flecks go floating by ; 
AVhere the dense alders our way embowers, 
Its serrated leaves and catkin flowers 
Just dipping tips in their dainty way, 
He lazily spends the summer day ; 
But we cannot stay, we must away. 
So on we glide, so lightlj^ gay. 



Come and look among the sedges, 

But be careful of soft edges ; 

Safe alone the higher ridges 

Wliere the flower-starred meadow lulls to 

sleep ; 
Sharp of ear and strong to leap. 
Clad in suit of darkest green. 
Is the queerest thing you've seen ; 
And he croaks and grumbles, too, 
Till he makes us feel so blue. 
That we're glad to get away 
From the meadow flowers gay. 
Glad once more to be at play, 
Rippling, laugliing, as we stray. 



70 

See the wliit'ning groups of birches, 
Tossing heads, as pride of riches, 
Showing silvery, feath'ry stretches ; 
Leaves of glossy green and silver sheen. 
Up the sloping hillside clearly seen, 
Waving back the glinting gleain and fiasli, 
Of our laughing, sun-kissed wavelets' dash ; 
Whisp'ring, calling, beckoning, singing. 
Back the winds sweet messages bringing. 
Still aloof in proud but tender grace, 
While our heart would shrine their form 
and face. 

'Neath the drooping willows look, 

In the cool and shady nook. 

Where the green-walled shadows mock. 

All the sun's fierce means and ways 

For to force our secret jilace ; 

Here in silence cool and deep 

Quietly we wish to sleep ; 

Depth of slumbrous shadows seek. 

When across our placid cheek 

Scratch the water-skater's feet ; 

'Xeath his touch the dimples meet, 



71 

Till we laughing slide away 

Where the si)arkling sunbeams play. 



Sweet are the days of the summer's sun, 
Of the birds' sweet songs, of the bees' deep 

hum, 
When as l^eauty's rivals the flowers come ; 
When roses blush as the wooing breeze 
Softly toys under the whisp'ring trees ; 
When the columbine and wild bluebell 
Nod to each other across the dell; 
When tremulous June breathes love's fond 

sigh, 
Close to the lips of ardent July ; 
Ah ! sweet are those days so laden with 

love 
Running with joy wherever we rove. 



When the snow-stars softly falling, 
Winds and winter days are calling. 
Then the crystal ice-yoke galling. 
Binds us hard and fast and deep ; 
And o'er summer's grave we weep. 



As we see tlie storm sliroud drifted 

Where the Hly's head was Ufted 

In the morn of yesterday ; 

Oh ! so soon to fade away ! 

Its loveliness and its perfumed breath 

Buried in the pallid chill of death I 



Cold in the ice fast l)0und we must stay, 

Vanished the past of frolicsome play, 

But in the smile of the bright spring 

day. 
The breath shall come of the Southland 

warm, 
Loosing the fetters of chilling storm ; 
Aha ! we'll shout in our rising pride, 
Brimming o'er full, like a river's tide ; 
Dashing like a wild, riderless steed, 
Foaming and fierce, fast onward to speed ; 
But springtime's balm shall still our wild 

wrath. 
Singing we'll run in the old-time path. 



73 

Sometimes we look at a lovely sight with 

blended pleasure and pain, 
It is to us a sacred thing, and yet it is sold 

for gain : — 
Ah! once I saw in the white moonlight a 

maiden wondrous fair, 
From her low-crowned hat, on her forehead 

set, flashed a silver star. 
Oh ! it was a glowing picture for a poet's 

worthy theme, 
Of old seen in the creation of an artist's 

angel dream ; 
Pictured softly in that moonlight, seeming 

pure and true and good, 
Standing there a lovely maiden with the 

charms of womanhood. 



Yes! back of the darkened shading I see 

the clear-cut face. 
And that shining star looms up afar, before 

the world's disgrace : — 
Oh ! the love of gold ! 'twas the mother's 

fault ; a wedded lie ; 



74 

A sorrowful life of legal sin, one long and 

hopeless sigh ; 
Then maddened flight ; a whirling down to 

deeper shame and stain ; 
Ah then I I said, though the world should 

scoff, a friend I would remain. 
And dared to search the haunt of shame for 

the friend of former years, 
And plead with her till her feet returned, 

though sad with doubts and fears. 



'Twas then to rouse the faihng strength the 

following lines were penned, 
And amid the darkened scenes of sin a ray 

of light to send. 
We cannot stand on the ocean's brink, and 

cast a stone away. 
But that the throb of its crystal heart shall 

reach to far Cathay ; 
We may not do one action of life, though hid 

from mortal eye. 
But it shall inove the atoms of time through 

all eternity ; 



The prayers to-day and the helping hand 
shall reach through the veil of years, 

And keep from the eyes of many unborn 
fountains of unshed tears : — 



THE STAR ON HER BROAV. 



There's a vision, bright and stainless, 

Back in years of long ago, 
Shining 'midst the silv'ry sheening 

Of the moonbeams' softened glow ; 

Pure and unstained as the snow. 

From the time of long ago. 
Comes the vision of a maiden. 

With a star upon her brow. 

Years that have passed, time still passing, 

Shows a pathway vainly trod ; 
Por her steps have wandered wildly. 

Far from truth and faith and God. 

He alone of Cross and Rod, 

He alone, of Holy Word, 
He can guide the steps so erring, 

Fill with peace the life so void. 



70 

for truth, faith and purity 

Of those years of long ago, 
When the star of life was beaming 

Briglit and unstained on her brow ! 

Unrecalled the past must go ; 

Yet may time in onward flow 
Show at last, in fadeless splendor, 

God's own star upon her brow. 

Where the yellow, sweeping waters of the 

Mississippi swell. 
Rolling past the dark, dense forest interspersed 

with prairie dell. 
In a thriving Western city is the one regained, 

content ; 
And the life once plunged in darkness is now 

finding better vent. 
In its ways of willing service, in a home-life 

once unknown ; 
But the maiden of the moonlight, ere the 

bitter seed was sown. 
She is dead, and only memory shining through 

the waste of years, 
Falls like moonbeams on a statue o'er the 

grave of manv tears. 



Let me bring a fireside picture, full of softly 

shaded lines, 
Blended to harmonious meaning, as in music's 

dearest chimes ; 
The cloud effect of years not dark'ning, only 

toning the scene ; 
While a pure and restful spirit, half defined 

and half unseen. 
Hovers as a household vision, like an angel 

hovers near. 
Till the sense of joy substantial far outweighs 

the shadowed fear. 
And a peace we understand not, yet we know 

is dwelling there. 
Fills the heart with earnest seeking; loving 

hearts are full of prayer. 

God is love, and love must be, then, such a 

true and holy thing. 
Or its life will flee in grasping, and the husk 

no pleasure bring. 
Love is not a burning passion born and reared 

in selfishness. 
Seeking for itself a blessing ere it would the 

other bless : 



78 

He who loves true he will suffer that the 

loved one know not pain, 
He will go forth to his own loss if the dear 

one is to gain ; 
He who looks not, then, on woman as a 

sacred thing of trust, 
Cannot know the wealth of loving, and shall 

fail at love's true test. 

More than twenty years ago, and still the 

picture fair I see. 
The brow of arching sweetness, the bride who 

stood so near to me; 
The tender, curving lips, love's portals of the 

tremulous soul. 
Giving in pure, modest richness an offering 

complete and whole. 
The trials and the sadness of disappointment's 

darkest hour, 
The pangs or benumbing stillness of affliction's 

awful power, 
Have not ruptured or corroded, but the color's 

brighter grown, 
And we're pressing on together for the starred, 

immortal crown : — 



79 

THE WIFE. 



The lover may breathe his passionate lay, 
As restless with sighs as the sobbing sea; 

The loved one's eye> dim the stars of the sky 
When the wine-glance of love surrenders 
the kev. 



The golden soul of the sweet night may 

swing 
Its radiant disk o'er the lovers' way, 
Where the drooping arms of the pine tree 

break 
Its glancing light into glittering spray. 



Its beams may shine on the green, trailing 
vine, 
'Neath whose shaded arch the warm blood 
may flush 
The dark, southern cheek with a richer glow 
Than the fruit shall know in its ruddy 
blush. 



80 

The myrtle may tell, where soft breezes swell, 
And the olive a sweet secret reveal ; 

But the stars and the moon hold not alone 
The depth and richness of love's truest 
seal. 

The firelight shines from the hearthstone of 
home, 
The warmth of its flame more clearly to 
prove 
The best of life is the true-hearted wife, 
The love of home the holier love. 

A maiden of grace, in soft, floating lace, 
Entrancingly fair, you may win and wed ; 

But ftiirer still, when with hearty good-will, 
The bare, dimpled arms are moulding the 
bread. 

The love should increase, with deepening peace, 

The loved one who meets you and greets you 

more fair. 

When in modest worth, with neatly plain dress, 

Like silk from the loom the smooth, shining 

hair. 



81 

The true wife of the home a fire may feed, 
More glowing and warm, more sacred a 
flame, 

Than e'er by virgin was tended or known 
On vestal aUar, whatever the ftime. 



The love of God and the love of nature, in 

its, higher form, 
Seems near akin. The flashing lightning and 

thunder of the storm 
We look upon as worthy of His majesty ; if 

with fear 
We quake, we say, as Jacob of old, surely the 

Lord is here 
And dreadful is this place, and shrink as 

shrank the Israelite host 
From Sinai's burning mount, and deem, too, 

we hear God's voice almost. 
As they then heard from smoke and light- 
nings, and thundering's jar ; 
Forgetting, as they forgot, when passed the 

elemental war. 



82 

Ah ! if we would, in remembrance, linger; and 

listening there, 
Dread utterance of the law once ceased, love's 

sweetness we would share. 
We should find, as did Elijah, on Horeb's 

mountain high. 
In the still small voice, in solitude. His pres- 
ence draweth nigh. 
In the great strong wind that swept the 

mount, the rifted, broken rock, 
The burning, flaming, wondrous 'fire, and the 

awful earthquake's shock, 
God was not ; they only passed before Him, 

servants of His will ; 
If, in nature, we would hear His dearest voice, 

we must 1)6 still. 



When, in harmony with little things, we 

come to know God's plan, 
We note the grass and see the many hues of 

fiowers spread for man ; 
Watching their increase, then we come to 

know that thev do not grow 



88 

By any inner force, grace or w'lW of their own 

selves to know ; 
They work with him ; their true development 

and beauty His will, 
Giving, with upturned look or reverent bow, 

their best ; He doth fill ; 
God's smile is in the lily's cup, and in the 

rose's petaled form. 
And in the varied-tinted, sweet breathed 

blossoms of night and morn. 



Fragrant lives I they are God's bow of prom- 
ise spanning all tlie earth, 

Holding fast the rainl>ow promise of the 
skies ; their wondrous worth 

Still more enhanced : their graceful curves a 
a message of loving care, 

A message from Judea, from the King's son 
to the King's child here. 

His living, growing, glowing word, ever new 
from day to day. 

Belting all the earth, fadeless, though thrones 
and ages pass away. 



84 

Ah I if some promise o-lven sliould be written 

on your heart, 
Wliat a fragrance and a beauty to your life 

it would impart ! 

THE OLD AND THE NEW. 



A new heart also will 1 give you, and a new 
spirit will I put within you; and I will take away 
the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will give 
you an heart of flesh.— Ezekiel 36:26. 

Thou heart of fire, heart of flame, 
Tell, O tell me whence you came? 
Whence this glowing, burning zeal, 
Which you now so keenly feel? 
What has made you feel and know 
For the depths of others' woe? 
What has made you seek to win 
Straying souls from paths of sin ? 
Why should you this task essay ? 
Life is fleeting, day by day ; 
Naught of gain in this to self. 
Neither fame nor ease nor wealth ; 
Then, heart of fire, heart of flame, 
Tell, O tell me whence vou came ? 



So 

Listen, then, and hearken well, 
While a simple tale I tell : — 
Once, you know, I wandered wild, 
Sometimes fierce, and sometimes mild 
Wayward moods of pride and scorn 
Killed each rose but left a thorn ; 
Selfishness fast held in thrall 
Manhood's best and nature's all ; 
Blighting breath of sinful storm, 
Chilling fast my beatings warm ; 
Love, alone, its watching kept, 
Else my fading hope had slept. 
For to change my halting way 
In earth's potions did not lay ; 
For the peaceful, even life 
Ever seemed to die in strife. 

Then a day of darkness came, 
Blighted hopes and burning shame ; 
On the storm of passion swept, 
Hope was lost and manhood wept. 
O, the storms of darkest night ! 
When the clashing forces 'fright ! 
Wiien the winds in madness swirl, 



86 

Life and death together whirl ! 
When the lightning's bolt is struck 
Through the heart of hardest oak ! 
Shattered heart, so torn and rent, 
Broken heart, that never bent, 
Heart, the forces of the storm 
Opened to the sunlight warm ; 
For this heart, shattered, riven. 
Soon received the liyrht from heaven. 



Yes ! God meant that I should know 
Blessed Lord, who loved me so. 
There was power to ease each pain, 
Out of death bring life again ; 
Binding up the bruised heart, 
Taking out all sting and smart; 
Power to take the darkened way, 
Light it as a glorious day. 
And He even willed it so, 
Heart of mine, His will to know ; 
Life of His, in love to move. 
Willing life to know His love : 
Obedient life his love to prove, 
Holv life to dwell in love ; 



87 

Tliis the heart that He has given, 
Fired witli love, atlanie for heaven. 



We read that all things work together for good 

for which we pray, 
In the lives of those who love Him, safe 

abiding day by day ; 
Bat the careless or defiant, when their living 

page we scan. 
Sometimes shows an awful darkness, seared 

and scarred, as under ban; 
And we see, e'en for the present, God was 

wiser far than we, 
For the pleasure seeker finds not, while our 

lives are wide and free. 
Let me sweep aside the curtain and reveal to 

you a sight, 
Hid away among life's pictures ; more of dark- 
ness than of liy-ht : — 



THE DEATH IN THE FOREST. 



PRELUDE. 

Fling out the wide folds of the banner of 

worth, 
The starry -bright flag of the South and the 

North! 
For red blood is flowing like wine from the 

lees; 
Fling out its bright stripes, let it float on the 

breeze ! 

Oh ! thou nation of stars, how dimmed thy 

clear light. 
When the cannon-wreathed smoke first hid 

from our sight 
That flag, which on Sumter came fluttering 

down. 
Though caught by the bravest and to the 

breeze thrown. 

The fire-breath of war from the thunder had 

broke, 
And the nation had reeled and paled 'neath 

the stroke 



89 

For a moment, but not in cowering fear, 
'Twas blood surginii' heartward when conflict 
is near. 

Tlien from handet and hill came hurrying feet, 
Through village and city, tramp! tramp I 

through each street 
Marched blue-coated soldiers, while bright, 

burnished steel 
8hone sharp in the sunshine, or flashed as 

they wheel. 

The voice of the Soutli spoke in hatred and 

wrath, 
The brave northern eagle stern-barring the 

path ; 
While the battle-flames that 'round Sumter 

had rolled 
Kindled hearts with its breath to the daring 

of old. 

THE ENLIST.MENT. 

Where the stern hills of New Hampshire, 
(Irey and rocky, sweep and curve. 



*)0 

Darkened by the spruce and hemlock ; 
Where the pine-crests toss and wave 
In as sharp a blast from winter 
As is known on Greenland's coast, 
With the sun behind the ice-tields 
To the shiverino- native lost. 

AVhere e'en 'neath the summer sunsliine 
Hardly disappears the snow, 
But around tlie glaciers' edges 
Fragrant clovers rankly grow, 
And the stretching sweep of pasture, 
Where the herds contented feed 
'Mong the nodding honeyed blossoms ; 
Where the l)rawling brookways lead 
Daring fisher of the trout streams 
Through a rough and periled waj'^ 
When descending at the twilight 
Where he climbed in l)roadened day. 

Steep and rugged frown the mountains, 
Towering o'er each rocky glen. 
With their tops wrapped in a mantle. 
Like tlie drifting mists from fen 



91 

When it rises in the dawning 

'Long a river's winding way ; 

Floating, whirhng, till the purple 

Transient shows through fleecy grey, 

Lighting up with roseate glory 

'Neath the sunset's ardent glance; 

Or when crowned by autumn snow-storms, 

Flashinii' like a distant lance. 



'Mid these grandest scenes of nature, 

When the war-notes throbbing broke, 

Lived a youth, on manhood's threshold; 

As the mountain echoes woke 

Responsive voices of the hills 

Flinging Vjack the drum-rolls' call, 

In his heart re-echoed deeper ; 

Martial Are, to do or fall ! 

Bred to deeds of strength and daring, 

And to sutler and endure. 

Weary, hard and toilsome tramping 

From Winnipiseogee's shore. 

Through the forests, o'er the mountains, 

Times of hunting, fishing, camping. 

Trying every nerve and muscle ; 



Bringing into ready school 

All that makes men, when most needed, 

Quick to think, alert and cool. 

Only in his moral training 

He had not known discipline, 

But in that free, country living 

Tempted not by grosser sin ; 

Only child of doting parents. 

Who would every wish supply. 

He had not reached, strong and stal)le, 

To the place where self must die. 

Or be kept in that subjection 

That the truest manhood knows, 

Caring less for self-indulgence 

Than respect to suffer loss. 

Thus the life of Ronald Warland, 
Let me call him by that name, 
When the call for men was sounding ; 
Very commonplace and tame. 
When the bugle-notes were ringing. 
Or the drum corps rattling play. 
Was the quiet, even living. 



93 

When, in fency, far away 
'Mid the scenes of camp and marching, 
Where the mystic Southland lay, 
Fancies formed of fame and glory 
Born from out the deadly fray. 

There were tender ties to sever 

If he listened to this call, 

For a fair and loving maiden, 

Too, in him, would give her all; 

Day by day suspense to suffer, 

One, whose joys were all too few, 

In whose heart the seed was lying 

Dormant, of a woman true ; 

Born to love, but born to suffer, 

Loving much, but self-restrained; 

One whose heart, though slowly bleeding. 

And with feelings deeply pained. 

Would grow sweeter in the trial ; 

One whose soul would surely rise 

To the sacred best of woman : 

Patient waiting ; sacrifice. 

When the hours of youth and manhood 
Mingle as a fount and stream, 



94 

Not to sober circumspection 
Is each judgment what would seem 
Best for him whose hopes are floating 
To the haven most desired, 
And what looks an ark of safet}^ 
By the glowing sunrise fired. 
When the sunset comes upon it 
'Tis but driftwood on the shore, 
And the hopes are lost forever. 
Lost? Yes, gone for evermore ! 



Ronald Warland ! Ronald AVarland ! 
Could you've seen the cost that day 
When you signed enlistment papers, 
Donned the blue to meet the grey, 
Shrinking back, though you had counted 
Death the price, or loss of limb. 
You'd have thought it far too heavy 
For a youthful dream of fame; 
Even though your country called you 
Had you known what you must give. 
Then your heart had failed within yon, 
Hope had died, though you must live. 



95 

In the cavalry enlisted 

Loving hearts would speed him on, 

Busy hands would form him comfort 

During days he should be gone. 

After weeks of drill and marching, 

Breaking in the raw recruit, 

He was ordered on to Concord 

As the city on the route 

From which taking transportation 

For the seat of war to go. 

Then came partings from some loved ones 

Kiss on lips and cheek and brow. 

Clinging hands, that ne'er in meeting. 

Might each other's grasping know 

In the future darkly shaded. 

Where alone could cast a glow, 

Hope, the morning-star of ages, 

Hope, that cheers the heart of years ; 

Hope and Love are two immortals. 

In whose union perish fears. 

Only of the dearer loved ones. 
Dearest loved one of them all. 
She would o;o with him to Concord ; 



96 

Hers the last, the tender call 
When the train was outward speeding; 
Hers the last sight of his face ; 
Hers the smile to cheer him onward, 
Though hot tears displace its grace. 

How could they in such a moment 
Think the human heart would dare 
Cast a cloud of vile suspicion, 
Weave 'round them a deadly snare ? 
As the innocence of childhood, 
Rustic j'outh and maiden, pure. 
In the freedom of well-doing, 
In this hour of making more 
Than common sacrifice ; death's hour 
Perhaps, the last, the parting time ; 
And parting gun might be the knell 
Of a crushed heart, when ruddy waves, 
Flame bound, death's stream should swell. 

THE BLACK HORSE. 

Step by step we need not follow, 
For the lesson is not there. 
Brave he was and a true soldier ; 



Had he fallen, many a tear 
Had bedewed the recollection 
Of an honored soldier's grave; 
But he won for gallant service 
There, a stripe upon his sleeve, 
Under Sheridan, the dashing 
Leader of the brave and true. 
Men with lives for love of country 
Daily pledged to dare and do. 

Once they swept in early morning 
Through a village of the foe, 
Who, surprised, fled in a panic 
Scatt'ring as they onward flew ; 
Ronald Warland, light and wiry, 
Mounted on a heavy horse. 
Fresh, a night of resting after; 
A beast, though, whose lazy course 
Would ofttimes peril his rider; 
Lack of spirit and of dash ; 
Saw a Southron trooper fleeing, 
And with resolution rash 
l^ared leave his comrades and follow 
Covetino- the liorse lie rode 



98 

As he saw his speed and action 
Weighted bv a heavv load. 



Fine Umbed as an Arab courser, 

Black as night, of easy speed, 

A proud and tier}' stallion, 

A soldier's ideal steed. 

On him were the marks of usage, 

Of hard riding during night. 

Else it had been vain to follow 

As to follow eagle's flight. 

Even then he seemed but playing, 

As if drawing Ronald on, 

Till he reached a sloping hillside; 

Sped the black steed swiftly down 

While his rider, surely trusting 

In the sureness of his stride. 

On his neck the l)ridle flinging 

Faced around in the mad ride ; 

Each his hands held a revolver; 

Steady as a statued centaur 

Sat he in his saddle seat; 

Twice the deadly bullet's whistle, 

Did our soldier's hearing greet, 



99 

When the black horse, the sure-footed, 
Stepped upon a rolling stone ; 
Riderless, swift he dashed away. 
With his rider headlong flung; 
Death had met him in that moment. 
And the steed a mile away 
Stopped, cropping the tender herbage. 
Was our soldier's mount that day; 
Through the rest of that great struggle 
Carried through the whole campaign, 
Swift and strong, and so sure-footed 
That he never slipped again. 

As the straws are l)lown and lifted 

By the toying summer ))reeze, 

Or the leaves in autumn woodland 

Drifted, falling from the trees, 

So the course of him who journeys 

Following life's winding way 

Where the breath of passion urges 

As his inclinations sway ; 

So was Ronald ; I have written 

Of this warlike episode 

Not to show his careless daring, 



100 

And llie gallant way he rode, 

As to give a deeper knowledge 

Of his character, as seen 

Viewed by eyes of truest friend8hi}> ; 

Of the lack of discipline, 

That would lead him into danger 

Where there was no higher prize 

Than the wull of but the moment, 

Under which no purpose lies 

Save he looked with wish and longing, 

And would seek to grasp and hold, 

With no thought of self denial ; 

And his disposition bold 

That would lead him, half uncaring, 

Into ways of crime and sin 

If it reached a full fruition. 

Self the motive I self must win I 

THE UETrRN. 

In those days it was no strange thing 
In the changes wrought by war, 
That the messages of loved ones. 
Might be very few, and far 
Between in bringing comfort, 



101 

Or relief to Inirdened hearts ; 

And to Ronald or his loved one 

It might seem the common part, 

In failure to receive answer 

To letters from time to time ; 

Ronald missed, but bore up bravely 

When none came, no cheering- line, 

And as came opportunity 

Amid the busy, shifting life 

A message would be sent by him 

To speak safety after strife, 

When battlefield had crimsoned been 

With blood, and shudd'ring souls 

Waited and listened, as to hear, 

Sighs and groans, like distant tolls 

Of death bell sw^ung 'mid low 'ring storm, 

When the thickened air, oppressed. 

With nameless horror seems freighted ; 

And the sorely lab'ring breast 

Pants, and panting longs for hearing 

Till suspense seems worse than woe ; 

Thus with kindly thought of cheering 

Would each message northward go. 



102 

Came the day when warfare ceasing; 
Triumphant peace was swelled forth 
In a glad, triumphant cheer 
That went pealing through the North, 
Louder than the roar on eastern coast 
Of breakers thund'ring 'gainst shore ; 
It broke upon the mountain peaks 
And filled the glens ; floated o'er 
The smooth waters of silver lakes ; 
Sending among the tow'ring trees 
Silv'ry echoes, sweet, musical ; 
Borne upon the western breeze 
To the glad Pacific's waters 
It rested on its placid breast, 
Mingling peace with peace, pacific, 
North with South, and East with West. 

By the eyes who saw the coming 
Of the soldiers who returned 
Ne'er will be the scenes forgotten ; 
Deeply, deeply have they burned ! 
O'er the blue lines' steady marching 
Waved the torn flags: shot and shell 
Shred and tattered, powder blackene<l, 



103 

From the battle's fier}^ hell ; 

How the long and swinging footsteps 

Was the soldiers' marching tread, 

And their bronzed and bearded faces 

Glowed with feeling, homeward led. 

Here and there an arm was carried 

Hung from neck, within a sling. 

And more than speaking eloquence 

Did the conflict's story bring. 

Oh ! the cheers of men and women, 

And the tears of women, too 1 

How the waiting wives and mothers 

Broke the ranks of boys in blue ! 

Hands were grasped and eyes were meeting, 

While fell tears like summer rain. 

Many meeting! Many greeting! 

Many missing, ne'er to come again ! 

How the eyes of Ronald sharply 
Searched each densely crowded street, 
Till the martial show was over. 
For the one he longed to meet? 
Vainly, vainly you will seek her. 
You, who thought her all your own, 



104 

False, for many a day believing. 
While her heart will sadly moan 
For your falseness, she is thinking 
That you are the one untrue. 
Spider never wove a finer 
Web, than woven 'tween you two. 

Eonald Warland, what is ailing? 
Have you seen the wraith of Death? 
Wliy are you, while almost reeling, 
Sharply drawing in your breath ? 
You, a soldier, brave and sturdy, 
Deathly sick by just a word ! 
Pallid, falt'ring and unsteady! 
" Married," your proud mother said ! 

MARRIAGE. 

I would not trace out the jxithway 
Of this plot akin to sin, 
The deceptive, sinuous windings 
Of the serpent, through and in 
The Eden of love and loving. 
Till was lost the garden fair. 
And breath of spring-time roses 
Died upon the lifeless air ; 



105 

How the sweet and rythmic lieatin.u" 
Of heart harmony was jarred, 
And hereafter, thus discordant, 
To remain forever marred. 

Much there is, too, that shall never 
Till that day be l)roiight to light, 
When, before God's throne in judgment, 
'Tis revealed to jnirer sight; 
Neither shall the fruit perfected 
Of its cyclic course be known, 
Till the pendulum gigantic, 
This fair earth, has left its zone. 

Only this, for clearer meaning, 

I will now here interline, 

Showing how this step, regretted, 

Was thus made without a sign 

Or a warning to. a loved one. 

That the sting might sharper smart ; 

How, when love is drowned in scorning, 

Ruthless it will crush its heart, 

Stories to her ears had floated 
Of her name a wicked jest. 



10() 

And l)y Ronald unresented ; 

True, for a severer test, 

She knew that she had overstepped, 

Unwittingly, it may be, 

Tlie hounds that worldly prudence puts. 

And unsullied lives may see, 

To guard them from a way where wrong 

Might conquer holiest right ; 

Thus still deeper did it rankle 

As she hid it out of sight. 

Messages, that never reached her, 

AVould have shown how untrue 

Were the doubts, for purpose fostered ; 

]Many years l)efore she knew 

How another sought to win her, 

And would make such means as these 

Fill the measure of his triumph, 

Only for himself to please ; 

Thus to gain what never yielded. 

Or could yield a moment's bHss ; 

Plearts cannot be satisfied 

With an empty form, as tliis. 

At last, in craved for sympathy, 
All alone, she turned to him. 



107 

Love she could not ever uive him ; 
Soon with tears her eyes were dim ; 
A thankless, lov^eless life she led, 
Almost a slave ; he e'en beat 
In savage passion, taunting her. 
And commanding ne'er to meet 
Iler former love ; and jealous wrath 
Burned to ashes what had been 
The only tie e'er to have given 
Him the chance her love to win. 



AVhy will the wounded human heart 

Smitten to its woe from love 

Turn to love again for comfort ? 

Is it nature from above, 

Unsatisfied without an arm 

To lean upon, that e'er brings. 

If followed true, to higher way ; 

Or to deeper darkness flings 

The soul who dares its light betray? 

Wondrous light, whose struggling birth 

If cherished into strength and growtli. 

Would make Paradise of earth I 

Infant Divine, in lowliness. 



108 

Yet cradled Omnipotence, 

Surely to crucial hour 

Leading. Where earthly selfishness, 

Powers of intellect or sense 

Stumbling o'er the very threshold 

AVould not venture in, but sigh 

At the external dreariness, 

Never seeing that near by 

Was power, sweetness in innocence, 

A new birth, a glorious life 

Risen in its own defense. 



AVounded affection, blighted hopes. 
Called up strength of Ronald's pride 
His nature was not vain, but proud. 
So fa"r as to override 
Sometimes the better common-sense ; 
And it led him soon to wed 
A woman who, in former days. 
He had scarce recognized; not bred 
His equal, e'en in moral life ; 
Of weak and frivolous mind ; 
Features fair, nature's recompense. 
Disposition gentle, kind ; 



10!) 

If home-life in her youth had been 
AVhat it ought, she might have made 
A true woman ; a faithful wife. 
The mother loved, thus 'twas said, 
The fatal cup that steeps the brain 
In sin and madness ; deepest shame I 
And from a child the maid had been 
A sufferer from tlie same. 

Too oft, in romance, of living 
Marriage is the aim and end ; 
In real life 'tis the beginning. 
The heart of all, to lend 
New motives, high hopes ; impetus 
Fresh-born to pursue the ways 
Of common purpose, centreing 
Not in self; its warmer rays 
Producing growth, new and vernal. 
Till the past, faded, dead lies ; 
From the present springs eternal 
Issues, from its joys and sighs. 

Thus the new life came to Ronald ; 
With it came lono;in<j: desire 



no 

To throw ai^ide the past, forget ; 
And while love lacked its former tire, 
To be affectionate and kind ; 
Do his best to knit the tie 
Between them into common love, 
That o'er first love's grave should lie ; 
That it might buried be forever; 
Nor mock him with a fancied bliss ; 
But let it die as breath of air, 
As seeming died that parting kiss. 

His was a nature to have stirred 
And roused, perhaps, to noble things 
If the wife had onward pointing 
Moved with him in all that brings 
And draws near those who sympathize. 
Prosperitj' seemed to flee, 
And success crowned not his ventures. 
Year by year he knew that he 
Was losing, e'er downward drifting ; 
And she in trifling things dwelt 
Content, and had no higher wish 
Than frivolous pleasures felt. 
And e'en the children that, to bless 



And would have blest, with years came, 
Seemed not to bring to duty's sense 
The mother's love, or show to her 
( )f such neglect the consequence. 



Of Ronald's mother let us draw 

A picture here, light to throw 

Upon some details little shown 

In the dark'ning scene we know. 

She was a woman dark and proud ; 

Haughty and vain, she ruled over 

Her household with iron hand ; 

And e'en her friends nmst e'er submit, 

Or soon feel, to her demand, 

Her sore displeasure in some way ; 

The father, good, easy man. 

Loved peace too well to e'er dispute 

Her imperious sway. And can 

To this woman, apparently. 

Be traced many a broken thread 

In this clouded woof of life. 

Whose ragged end did e'er lead 

To sorrow, misery and sin. 



132 

'Tis shrewdly thought, 'twas her kept 
The messages that never reached 
Ronald's love; the tears she wejjt 
And the days of anxious watching 
Seems not to have touched this heart; 
She wished to break the tie that bound 
Him to the one whom she thought 
Below him in worldly station. 
But the marriage he had made, 
For her, seemed like retribution ; 
Such disgrace on her it laid, 
A thousand times she sadly wished 
First love left to take its course. 
On her the sin thus had recoiled 
And multiplied, and grew worse. 

Was it strange the life of Ronald 
Grew slothful, stagnant and still ? 
Void of higher inspiration 
Inert was, of powerless will ? 
A Jack-of-all-trades he became, 
Ingenious, and of ready mind ; 
But, unsmiling on his wooing, 
Success from him fled, to find 



Ill] 

Or leave no liope, no resting place. 

The most sensitive of all, 

The highest natures and the best 

Always seem to lowest fall 

AV'hen tiav'ling o'er the downward way 

To his lips the ready curse 

Became a constant, breatheM thing; 

Filling an influence worse, 

At purity a deadly blow, 

The foul and nauseous weed 

Steeped his whole body in its sin. 

Its naught less than pois'nous seed. 

Tobacco! Is it not a source 

Of sensual and of sensuous life? 

Do men grow better l)y its use, 

As tempered blade meet for strife? 

In lesser form some may believe 

A virtue 'tis, and not vice; 

But a smooth and treacherous thing, 

It is like slippery ice 

Ever unsafe; a moral wrench 

On the whole being is brought. 

In greater use more pernicious, 



114 

AVith ruin and witli stupor franght. 

^len buy and use while hungered ones 

Are crying, dying for ])read ; 

While round tlie world resound tlie nioan^ 

(^f those who might l)e fed 

With hut a fraction of the cost 

Of this darling, loathsome pet. 

That is dragging its votaries 

To deeper slavery yet. 

OFF TO KANSAS. 

Six years passed ; l)ut all its changes 

For Ronald better wrought not ; 

Three children, too, made harder task 

The daily i>roblem ; he sought 

Another way to reach success. 

From the distant AVest came glowing 

Accounts of verdure and fruit ; 

Of a land whose teeming richness 

Of tree and flower, corn and root. 

Seemed like distant land of promise 

Smiling 'neath the setting sun. 

Yes ! the tales were bright and glowing 

As tliouQfh traced and roundlv done 



By its softened rays, at even, 
On the <>oi-geous lines of sky, 
As in blended bands of glory 
O'er that land they hov'ring lie. 

This the time when intimately 

I eame to know him; his ways, 

His thonghts, his life may have received. 

From my fresh life, in those daye, 

(For hope was strong within me then, 

The days were bright, and friends were true,) 

-\ new imi)ulse, an onward jmsh. 

His i)ast, that I after knew, 

Was unknown to me; unrevealed 

Save glimpses of the common life, 

And what are common interests 

With wdiich the world e'er is rife. 

Together we hunted ; rambled ; 

Plied the taxidermists' art; 

And I won his firmest friendshiji, 

So when came the time to part 

We parted with a real regret. 

After months of careful planning, 
'Wakened to new interest, 



no 

He perfected to liis liking 

Tlie details for going West. 

He must leave his wife and children 

In Xew Hampshire for a while, 

Till commencing farm and dwelling 

On prolific Kansas soil. 

For their comfort he provided, 

As he could in the best way. 

Among their friends and near kindred, 

Till should come the longed for day 

When the welcome summons coming. 

To a home prepared should bid ; 

And he hoped to leave behind him 

All the old life; to be rid 

Fore'er of its disappointments, 

Of memory's saddened fret. 

And amid new scenes and wild life 

Havfe no time to know regret. 



80 we parted at the depot, 
I, the one to press his hand 
In the last and fervent claspin< 
Ere he sped fast overland. 



117 

THE WESTEr.N HOME. 

In safety he reached Topeka, 

After a long and weary ride, 

Where he quickly found employment ; 

Which enabled him to tide 

Over the first dithculties 

Of the unfamiliar place, 

And to gain a better insight 

Of tlie native Western race. 

Or people country born and bred, 

So unlike New England men ; 

When law desiring but too free 

To mete forth Lynch law, e'en when 

Tardier action would have met 

Needs of justice and of right ; 

A border state where men might give 

Time to him who had in fight 

Imbrued his hands in human blood, 

But he who stole a horse swung 

Quickly into eternity : 

To the nearest tree was hung. 

The life of beast was so counted 

Of more worth than life of man ; 



118 

The human soul, vakie unknown, 
Was swept away without gain. 

A year in Kansas, then he sent 

For wife and children to come. 

Upon the lands near Silver Lake 

He prepared for them a home. 

He had passed through some trial scenes 

Before the year had flown. 

And once had lain close to death's door 

Shot, by poisoned arrow, down. 

Wife and children again with him 

He strove to meet with zeal 

The difhculties of the life 

A settler must always feel 

And meet, in contact with nature 

In its wildness, and bad men. 

His land was rich; the fertile soil 

Gave luxuriant life and then 

Bore what seemed most fabulous crops ; 

But the chills and fever came, 

His house too low on bottom land 

Was built ; I know not whose blame ! 



119 

Bat all were sick save one child, 

A girl; little, toddling thing! 

But mother's stay and father's help. 

Though but fragile reed to cling. 

In this, their time of greatest need. 

She brought cooling draughts from sprin< 

To moisten parched and burning lips, 

And for their needs, quick to bring 

Whate'er the little hands could find ; 

Burden hard for child to meet! 

But in this time she seemed their all ; 

Wee l)ut willing hands and feet! 

THE FLIGHT. 

His strength, the burning sun beneath 
Wasting away ; with hard chill 
Or scorching fever sapping fast 
The vital force, strong to till 
In health with unbound energy 
When interest is spurring on. 

The country 'round was beautiful ; 
Rankly grew his waving corn 
Upon the prairie swell ; away 



120 

Stretching far as eye could see 

Were flowers massed in l^anks of l)loom, 

Or set in starry array 

In the green earth-sky of the grass; 

Fragile and graceful I the bee 

Toyed with their softly swaying bells; 

The air was heavy with the scent 

Floating o'er the flowery sea. 

Along the bottom cottonwoods, 
Gigantic, towered; pecan trees, 
Pawpaw and wild plum, interlaced 
With climbing vines; where the breeze 
Scarce penetrated 'mong the wild growth, 
So thick and dense ; or the sun 
E'er pierced through with the gleaming lance. 
Morn to eve, in crescent run ; 
Hiding the deep, black soil beneath 
The damp, miasmatic shade ; 
Stored richness of the centuries 
Waiting the opening blade. 

But every sense must fail before 
The inexorable law, 



121 

And beauty will not satisfy 
Pain racked frames or heart sore. 
Vain is the hope, most fondly vain, 
That in sensuous things should lie 
Peace of heart, or sweet restfulness, 
Or that which will satisfy. 

Near the claim of Ronald Warland 

An earlier settler dwelt, 

A man of quarrelsome intent. 

Who, neighborly ties unfelt. 

Cared not for the amenities 

Or courtesies of life ; 

A pioneer of stalwart frame, 

Whose days had been in stern strife 

With nature, wild beasts, wilder men; 

Desperate, daring and bold. 

His wish and thought some advantage 

Over others to gain or hold. 

With this man Ronald had high words. 
Fever shattered as he was, 
He could not bear the insults flung. 
E'en thouofh he might bear the loss 



122 

Of ravished corn, and trampling down 
Of precious crops ; hopes and stays 
When should sweep 'cross the prairie dead 
The fierce norther in wintry days. 

One night, found feeding on his corn. 

Were this neighbor's horses three ; 

He gave him bitter warning, then. 

Ne'er again to leave them free 

To trespass on his rightful claim. 

Or, so ran his daring threat, 

To shoot them where they should be found 

Scornful laugh the warning met ; 

Who would dare to slay a horse? 

In this country of dread Lynch law 

Who would dare to take that course? 

But little did this settler know 
Eonald in his tempest mood. 
Or disposition from his youth. 
To which I previously allude. 
When the following night drew near, 
Pulling down the precious corn 
Again the robber steeds were found. 
The ground strewed with refuse torn. 



123 

The ready rifle, aimed to kill, 
Sped the messengers of death, 
And, struggling, sank the noble brutes 
Down upon the blood stained earth. 
Then o'er his mind the consequence 
Flashing like the lightning's gleam. 
The bullet or the rope might be 
The end 'fore morn should beam ; 
And to his thought was then recalled, 
Fearful sight he once had seen, 
Glancing from his cabin door 
As sunrise lit the prairie green: 
A spreading tree, the night before 
AVhose beauty he had scanned with pride, 
Bore hideous fruit ; seven men 
Hanging there had strangling died ; 
The Vigilants had held their court ; 
Seven ropes; souls were swiftly hurled. 
No time for repentance, ])rayerless, 
Into the eternal world. 
He could see each fiice distorted, 
And each blackened, swollen tongue, 
While the staring eyes protruded; 
Dreadful sight, as there they swung! 



]24 

While he stayed the night had fallen, 
And his strained eyes looked away 
Toward the tree where he had seen them, 
As if, through the starlight-gray, 
He again should see them swinging. 
Ghastly, grim and horrid sight. 
That to him they would be beck'ning. 
Out the gloom of deathly night. 

But the time had come for action. 
He knew he must quickly tiee 
At any cost; all his labor 
Lost ; his home again to be 
Broken up. That his very life 
On his leaving Kansas soil 
Depended. He must quickly go ; 
By midnight ride he might foil 
The death pursuit, so sure to come. 
Short time was given parting word 
With ready mustang at the door. 
Who forward sprang like startled bird 
Where ran the trail to Topeka. 
Cool the night winds swept his face. 
Still hotlv burned his fevered brow, 



]25 

Mile on mile his horse's pace 

Struck off in measured beat, till reached 

A half-way place, where a spring 

Bubbling and cool w^ells up; and here 

A few moments halt, to fling 

To ground and drink deep draughts, 

Cooling, from nature's cup, 

And bathe his wildly throbbing head. 

But as he would be starting up 

His quick ear caught the distant sound 

Of a horse at highest speed 

Over the way that he had come. 

His first glance was at his steed. 

Quietly he stood with ears pricked sharp, 

As if scenting from afar, 

Danger and crisis soon to come. 

Upon breath of the night air. 

It seemed no use to flee. 
Uncovered to foe in rear; 
He knew that death rode fast behind. 
And the struggle might be near ; 
To throw away an advantage 
Thus, his last and only chance; 



126 

And he resolved to stay and wait, 
Eeady for his foe's advance, 
And, if discovered, death to him 
In fight who failed to shoot sure ; 
And both might fall in deadly strife, 
Or worse, crippling wounds endure. 

He knelt short distance from the trail, 
Drawn revolver in his hand 
Full cocked; his every nerve now strung, 
Tension hard, like a steel band. 

His foe drew near, he knew 'twas him, 
Recognized his giant frame. 
His air, e'en through the shades of night ; 
Shorter his breathing became. 

Just beyond the spring the road forked ; 
Each branch led by different course 
To Topeka. Here the settler 
Near to Ronald, reined his horse, 
With bent head, listening intently ; 
Ronald even tried to still 
The verv beatings of his heart. 



127 

Oh ! what if, sharply and shrill, 

His horse's neigh the throbbing air 

Should thrill ! Common call to each ; 

But if it came, revolver shot 

Would follow quick ; and its breech 

Was held with steady grasp and sure, 

Finger on trigger. No sound ; 

No footfall ; only the night-wind 

Broke the silence all around 

With its sighing. The north road, then, 

Was taken ; and when the last 

Distant footfall died away 

Ronald mounted and rode fast 

Along the other open way. 

As the early morning train 

Started from Topeka depot 

Ronald leaped on board, and then 

Was seen the settler, riding fast 

Towards them, signalling to hold 

The cars. Too late! They gathered speed. 

Freer he breathed as past rolled 

Mile on mile, whirling, dizzy flight 

Of the swelling, prairie ground. 



128 

111 Illinois, ere second night, 
Relatives and friends he found. 



AGAIX IX NEW HAMPSHIRE. 

Message sent his wife and children. 

And to Illinois they came 

And joined him, then proceeded on 

To old New England ; whose name 

And peace they loved as ne'er before. 

Her toW''ring mountains ; her woods. 

Fragrant with balsam of the pine 

Odor laden sunshine moods; 

Her swift rivers and streams, her lakes. 

Dimples that pellucid break 

The beauty, grandeur and the calm 

Of sweet nature's glowing cheek. 

To all w^as given added zest, 

To see again, to enjoy. 

He had an artist's sense and love 

Of nature. Would oft employ 

Hours in gazing and in drinking in 

Its beauty, till others thought 

It shiftlessness ; perhaps it was, 



129 

So fine the line, we see not 
Tlie difference, tliat separates 
Only when profit or use ; 
A day may turn the scale of years. 
Gift to cherish, not abuse. 

Within tlie fertile triangle 

Of New Boston valley fair, 

Bounded by the steep Joe English, 

With its precipice of sheer 

Five hundred feet of rugged stone, 

Scarred and seamed by ragged wear 

Of gi-anite strength stern opposed 

'Gainst ravage of year on year 

Since, when in march of time, the mass 

Broke from molten bed beneath, 

Grew cool within the outer air 

Fanned by the strange breezes' breath. 

Full of the ozone of the past. 

That, perhaps, the life-spring fed 

Of fauna and of flora, growtii 

Gigantic, that has fast wed 

The early periods of the world 

With the hearthstone of to-dav, 



130 

In warmth and tender memories 
Of the softened firelight's play; 
There, too, rises, green-walled, sloping, 
Uncanoonuc, twin mounts' pride. 
Crowned by oak, and pine and chestnut, 
Tow'ring upward, side by side ; 
There, too, the jagged seaming 
Of the Pulpit on the south. 
Like the wide and threat'ning gaping 
Of a cruel, sharp-fanged mouth ; 
It was here that Ronald Warland 
Settled on a valley farm. 
And here first came prosperity 
With the peacefulness and calm 
Of two years' earnest, lab'ring life, 
When the toil seemed well repaid ; 
And in his life was more content. 
More of sunshine, less of shade. 

VACATION RAMBLES. 

For all his quick, impulsive ways 
With me he was always kind. 
Pleasant he was as a companion. 
True a comrade as you find. 



131 

As the rougher world views these things. 
Many faults he had, I know, 
But those I overlooked, and days 
And nights, at times we would go 
Together on some rambling quest 
Among nature's wilder ways, 
Hunting or fishing, or lining 
The bees, in the sunlight's blaze. 
Toward some shadowy, distant grove. 
For stores hid in some old tree. 
For sweetness left among decay 
While the harvest days should be. 

These were vacation times, the days 

In busy life now and then 

Caught between, for recreation; 

Sunny days they e'er remain, 

Brightened by autumn leaves 

Vivid colored by the frost. 

Crimson and green, and brown and gold. 

Till in the wide vistas lost 

Of the shimmering, golden sheen. 

Days full of laughter of brooks, 

Babbling voices out of pebbly 



132 



Reaches, 'mong the shady nooks ; 
List'ning to the whirring partridge, 
List'ning to the hum of bees, 
Plucking the wild grapes' purple clusters, 
Watching the squirrels in the trees. 



Many pictures fair are clustered 
Round the old Joe English hill ; 
Pictured scenes, with light and shading, 
That would many volumes fill ; 
But I pencil, touching lightly, 
That I may not weary you, 
As they open in the distance, 
Still enchanting to the view. 



But two pictures I'm recalling ; 
One, lit by the camp-fire's flame ; 
'Tis the hill environed lakelet 
That bears the mountain's name. 
When we reached it, past the sunset. 
As the twilight shadows grew, 
Gleamed the afterglow reflections 
In its waters, white and blue. 



133 

Till it shone a gem, like sapphire, 
In its rook encircled brim 
As we watched our floats light resting 
On its waters, growing dim 
As the starry night grew round us, 
Till the firelight flashed high. 
Fed by pitchy pine knots heavy. 
And by driftwood high and dry ; 
Then the ruddy light flashed outward. 
And the giant shadows danced 
'Long the shore in shapes fantastic, 
O'er the waters broad expanse. 

And the other scene is graven 

In still deeper, sharper lines. 

For I gazed as look the dying 

On the last of earthly signs. 

We ascended old Joe English 

By the long and winding way. 

For that route is easier climbing ; 

It was in the hot midday 

When we reached the tree-grown summit 

O'er that awful precipice. 

Where to climb meant sure destruction 

If your foothold you should miss. 



134 

I had fallen, sprained an ancle 
'Tween two sharply jutting stones, 
Though some moments sick with anguish, 
As I found no broken bones, 
AVe had forward pressed to gain it 
Till we stood upon the height. 
Drinking in the scene below us 
Sharply traced by bright sunlight; 
Kural scene of hills and valleys, 
Cottages and smiling farms, 
With a look of peaceful quiet. 
As secure from all alarms. 

Then we rolled a great stone over, 
Saw it start with giant bound, 
Striking the cliff far below us. 
And with fainter, ftiinter sound 
Strike and strike again, till heard not. 
Only we saw trees bow and fall 
Under the awful momentum 
Gathered down that rocky wall. 

LEGEND OF JOE ENGLISH. 

Joe English, the friend of white men, 
Was an Indian, it is true, 



135 

Who wished his people Kve at peace, 
As the early settlers knew. 
He went and came at his free will, 
With them often shared his game, 
Until transformed from savage brave 
He received this English name. 

His tribe was camped at Amoskeag, 
Above the plunging, foam-white falls. 
Before they leap, roar and thunder 
As the waters chafe the walls. 

All along the swift Merrimack 

And the clear Piscataquog 

Roamed the daring, red skinned hunters. 

Knowing every plain and bog, 

Ev'ry mountain, ev'ry valley, 

Knew the course of ev'ry stream ; 

Caught the salmon at their iishways. 

Speared the pike and caught the bream. 

When the time came that they plotted 
The massacre at one blow 
Of the settlers of New Hampshire, 
Before thev should know 



136 

Of their hostile, deadly intent, 

Joe English risked his own life 

To warn the whites, and they prepared, 

Amid flaming homes and strife, 

Beat back the raging storm of hate, 

Tomahawk and scalping knife. 

But for the timely warning given, 

Ere this murderous storm was rife, 

'Twould have been extermination 

To the whites within this vale; 

Cut ofl", they were, from outside help; 

But his warning made them fail. 

From this time marked, savage vengeance 

Sought him everywhere, to slay. 

Till in the forest, near the mouth 

The Piscataquog, one day, 

As the sun rode low the western 

Sky, he was beset by savage foe. 

Bent on his capture and his death. 

Many they were, one way to go 

Alone was open ; too well he knew 

Savage torture meted out 

To captive taken ; better quick death. 



187 

Fleet as a runner and stout 
Of body, and very lithe of limb, 
He bounded away up tlie stream, 
But followed hard and last was driven 
To this mountain, it would seem, 
As his last hope, and made his stand 
O'er this precipice; his last; 
Boldly jumped to save his scalp, 



SAVED KR()>r DEATH. 

When we were ready to return, 
li was proposed to go down 
Edging across the steep descent, 
A way as dangerous known, 
And reatth tlie ledges at the side ; 
With each other's help to swing 
From shelf to shelf until we gained 
The mountain's foot, which would bring 
Us nearer home, saving miles 
O'er stony road ; a hard way 
For me with ancle lame and sore, 
'Neath l)eating sun ; hot midday. 



138 

And so we ventured out upon 

The rocky face, o'er the brow, 

From where Joe EngUsh fell, was dashed, 

Ground to pieces, far below ; 

Ronald, used to mountain climbing, 

Holding with hands and feet, led ; 

He swung across the awful fall, 

I tried to follow ; instead 

Of using feet, I had to hold. 

Swing by use of hands alone, 

And, too late, I found I could not 

Shift them to move, but hung down 

Without a chance should hold relax. 

No hope ! I saw the sky ; 

The awful stretch of rock beneath ; 

And I thought how I should lie, 

('Twas like a dream,) mangled and crushed 

Vision of sorrowing wife 

Sent a pang piercing to my heart 

And nerved me to the hold for life ; 

Then heard I voice of friend below 

Encouraging me to cling ; 

Then saw him move along the face 

Of rocky wall ; balancing 



181) 

On a iiiirrow shelf, where scarcely 
Foothold was for mountain sheep 
Or climbing goat ; slowly along 
Where a jar against the steep 
Or a ({nick step would headlong fling. 

He came beneath, his hand prest 

My foot ; steadily bore me up ; 

" Now," he cried, "on me rest, 

And shift your hold ! " 'Twas quickly done 

A turn ; a spring ; and a ledge 

Was reached, and I was safe once more, 

Though rough way to forest's edge. 



The ways of novelty and change 
Are more than ways of steadfast life 
To some, who look on outward things 
Kest and peace are sunk in strife 
For self, for gold, for baser range 
That darken the feelings' play ; 
The soul of life unknown, unseen, 
Is left to perish alway. 



140 

I would gladly leave unpenciled, 

Buried in the lowly grave, 

All that would not show true manhood 

In the one who was so l)rave. 

There are lines that run so darkly 

That they end in ragged blot ; 

What is underneath God knowetli 

And the motives ; I shall not 

Handle rudely or irreverent, 

Though my hand shall draw most true, 

That which cannot have a lesson, 

As we trace that life-thread through. 

The time came when Ronald Warland, 

Dissatisfied, sought for gain 

Some easier way ; the life of toil 

That he led had, in the main, 

Brought him only blessings ; regained 

Health, sweet sleep, abundant food 

Plain and substantial, not dainty. 

But to him of relish good. 

He was thriving in every way, 

Better than ever before. 

But money seemed to be his thought. 



141 

At any cost to liave more. 

He seemed to think that gold would l)iiy 

Ease of heart and every joy ; 

First ventured forth with honesty 

Artistic sense to employ, 

To turn to dollars what had been 

Hitherto a loss to him ; 

Sacrificed his home and home-life, 

Yielding up on them all claim 

Gave his two daughters to strangers. 

For adoption, as their own. 

Plis judgment may have l)een at fault. 

For sin I would not condone, 

But, trul}^ that he thought it best. 

For he was a father kind ; 

Too indulgent, it may have T)een ; 

Care for ])()dv, not for luiml. 



hid he succeed? In mouc}-, yes I 
r>nt used liis art to pull down, 
And not build uj) the lives of men 
When better ]>aid him 'twas shown; 
'Twas the breaking down of manliood 
And the entering uijon 



142 

A path of questionable tilings, 
A way with distrust sown. 

With studied care he moved along 

In the road of wily fraud, 

Sharply weighing every chance ; 

On the laws of man and God 

Trampling with cool impunity 

Apparently. Then to me 

Came fuller knowledge of his life 

And growing depravity ; 

I turned from him without a word. 

Or effort to reclaim him 

From the tightening bands of sin ; 

INIy only light that of dim 

Morality ; no hope for him 

Wrapped around with Circean spell. 

Lost in the dark'ning glooms of night, 

E'en if some ray feel^ly fell. 

Ah, yes! How changed to awful shapes, 
Beastly and swinish, when lips, 
Once glowing with true manhood's life, 
Press the cup of sin and sips 



143 

That fateful draught of madd'nlng eliange ; 
No more to stand erect in light, 
But hound and held to come and go 
'Mong the scum and filth of night. 

And what, through all this time of change, 

Shall we say of her, the wife ? 

That help on which so mucli depends, 

That anchor 'mid the storms of life 

Within the haven of home, 

If true to high womanhood 

She is the "glory of the man," 

Ever true and pure and good. 

Those who have been reared up under 
Careful, loving mother's eye. 
Who, her care and warnings, only 
Barred the way where follies lie, 
Will they conceive how an erring 
IMother may implant the seed, 
That in years for bloom and blossom 
Proves to be a noxious weed? 
If in childhood the foundation 
That was laid V)y mother's hand, 



144 

Where .should be the lioliest pafegnards, 
That true womanliood may stand 
In God-meant strength, in home-life 
Sin and sensual things are taught 
Let our blame be lost in sorrow, 
Let us still have kindly thought 
For the one thus early laden 
With a weiglit so hard to l)ear, 
With no gentle hand to help her, 
Nor a mother's earnest prayer. 

If it Avere not for contrasting, 
That the true ma}' brighter shine, 
I would shrink from this retouching 
Of each hidden, shaded line. 

Fallen I God can see ]\vw tempted. 

He alone, \n1i(» knows the heart. 

Fity hei', <) while-ioljed wtuiiaii. 

Who Iiath chosen l^etter part. 

You may think he dragged her downward 

In his maddened thirst for gain, 

But I've thought, perhaps, it might l)e 

That this tlung had turned his brain; 



145 

That through years she had neglected, 
That through years she had misused, 
He had carried knowledge hidden 
Of a past misspent, abused. 

She was a weak and erring woman, 

Not one hopelessly depraved, 

And, could she have been enlightened 

With a wisdom, heart-engraved, 

Of a better, truer living 

Of a life whose ways are know^n, 

Through eternal ages bringing 

Back to what in earth is sown. 

Then she might have wept and lingered 

At a loving Saviour's feet 

Till the past had been forgiven. 

And the present made complete 

In a love to hold and uplift, 

With a power to work the change ; 

But we deal with facts unyielding, 

And we must no longer range. 

The sorrow for this faithlessness 
Grew^ to wild and savage hate ; 



146 

Day and night he plotted revenge, 
Eelentless as the hand of fate. 

REVENGE. 

Men who strike, in sudden vengeance, 
The destroyer of the home 
Have the sympathy of many, 
And are justified by some ; 
But a deep and hellish hatred 
That would plan to ruin bring 
All the lifetime of the fellow 
Being who had done this thing. 
Sorely tempted, to his sorrow. 
From the way of love and right, 
By the spell of fickle woman 
Hid from virtue's shining light, 
Seeking not his downfall only. 
But to strike at hearts more dear 
Than a man's own life is counted ; 
Bringing misery and fear, 
Desolation and sore anguish; 
While his own pockets should fill 
Full of blackmail gold, grown brighter 
Fired by hate too deep to kill. 



147 

This man gave to Ronald Warland 

His life's savings, all he had, 

Borrowed money, contracted debts ; 

Stripped of all, 'twas very sad. 

That knowledge might not reach his wife 

Of his misdoing ; the wife 

flalf an invalid ; delicate 

And gentle; and in her life 

Refined and womanly. He felt 

He could not bear she should know 

His treachery and sinfulness ; 

He loved her, an added woe, 

That she might go forever from 

His side, and her pure heart wrung 

Do as man would do, ne'er forgive; 

Over him the blade, hair held, hung. 

But Ronald did not e'er design 
To lose this one last sweet drop 
Of his revenge ; in this was blind ; 
'Twas the time for him to stop, 
To rankling leave in bitterness 
And dread suspense worse than all ; 
He judged by self and brought defeat 
To his own aim past recall. 



148 

Some means he took that she should know. 
The sin, and its consequence 
Her husband's complete ruin sealed, 
Ere he departed hence. 

Ah ! the heart of a true woman 
Greater wealth than Indies holds, 
But she all the one indues 
Who with key of love unfolds ; 
Man may wrong, deceive and blind her 
While in many ways untrue, 
When repentant he will find her 
Pitying, loving, leading through 
With a tact that's more than knowing, 
With unselfishness sublime. 
Bearing roses on the thorn-crown 
Fragrant through unmeasured time. 

This gentle woman, sorrowing. 
Pitying, freely forgave 
When she knew how he had suffered. 
And she stilled her heart to save. 
Then she wrote to Eonald Warland 
An appeal, earnest and clear, 



149 

With wifely dignity, showing 

And marking out without fear 

The Hues where duty Ues, and said 

Persecution ought to cease, 

That nothing more was to be gained, 

Every claim he should release 

If aught he held to terrify ; 

"Sinning, he was sinned against. 

Husband I will not condemn," said she; 

"Who knows where the sin commenced." 

It may have touched slumb'ring feelings 
Buried deep in Ronald's heart. 
For he ceased to longer follow. 
Dropped the hard, revengeful part. 



THE FIRST LOVE AGAIN. 

Ronald Warland, in the triumph 
Of his schemes for getting gold. 
Met his love of days remembered, 
Met first love of days of old. 
Well he knew that she had suffered, 
And he knew she loved him still: 



150 

That the glamour of their youth -life 
Would not go away at will ; 
Passing years of unknown longing, 
And of heart-want unsupplied, 
Was a burden unforgotten 
Of companionship denied. 
True, she was wife of another. 
Of a jealous, unwise churl, 
She was now the sober matron. 
Not the graceful, laughing girl. 

Fifteen years since last they clasped hands 
With that long and clinging touch, 
And sad time, with leaden footsteps. 
Marked the tear-stained way with such 
Tender mem'ries of love's springtime. 
Is it strange they still should feel. 
When their hands met light together. 
Something of the old-time thrill ; 
Each knew well the base endeavor, 
That successful, warped and marred 
Both their lives from what they had meant, 
When in evenings, brightly starred, 
They had walked with love's confidence; 



151 

Or in the golden light of morn, 

Spilling the dew from out the heart 

Of roses, soft in the dawn 

And glowing, like the cheek they pressed. 

They had planned a happy home 

Not far away ; a humble roof, 

To cover joyous days to come. 

Is it not true, that we may map 
Lines for men's and women's Uves, 
And straight and discreet for their walk. 
There's something still that in them striv( 
Loth to be bound by settled laws? 
These lines can never bind hearts ! 
They throb and beat, softened pants. 
Stirred by a touch, a memory, 
Or, perhaps, unguarded glance; 
Unseen they come and go, unknown, 
Save when another heart shall know 
And catch the meaning of that thrill, 
In it finding joy or woe. 

I cannot show you step by step 
The dangerous way, followed fast 



152 

Despite jealous watch ; interviews 
Stolen were held, and at last 
Ronald proposed to cast aside 
The legal fetters that apart 
Held them ; divorce for him was sure 
From faithless wife; and by art 
And money he would set her free 
From her husband's jealous claim ; 
They, pictured happiness, would flee 
United, bear a common name. 

Human nature has reasoned" thus 

Ever since the race began ; 

And hard to know the right from wrong 

By the standards set by man. 

All, all, but deal with outward things ; 

God alone can rule the heart 

With law of perfect love ; no ill 

Wrought to others cause or part. 

Shall we judge this loving woman 
With a cold world's bitter scorn. 
That she spurned not then the tempter? 
Ah ! her heart was sadly torn 



153 

By conflicting thoughts and passions, 
And she knew not what to do; 
Love had called for her to wander; 
Duty called, "O still be true ! 
True, though clouds be darkly settling, 
True, though dimly seen the way ! " 
Almost yielding to his pleadings 
She would not decide that day. 
But longer she must consider ; 
This he gladly granted her, 
For he knew her heart was with him, 
And was sure he did not err 
When he supposed every woman's 
Principle was swayed by love. 

"The woman that deliberates 
Is lost," some writer has said. 
Is it true in application? 
Let us see here where it led. 
She had promised that her answer 
Should be sent on such a day 
To the place where he proceeded, 
Called by business away 
From the little mountain village 



154 

Nestling near the snow-capped hills ; 
And he left her, never doubting, 
In his way should blend both wills. 

At time appointed answer came, 
The answer of a faithful one 
True to a conscience still undim'd, 
True, and the victory won ; 
A letter from sweet womanhood, 
Unblameable still, though erred 
She had, at first, impelled by love ; 
Blame for self only she had. 
But she, as a true w^oman said: — 
"Ronald, you and I know, whate'er 
The thoughts of others may have been, 
There is no act but what is right. 
If open before God and men 
And all w^as seen as we do know, 
(There may be folly, but no crime,) 
In days of past or present ones ; 
Let it be in future time 
Unsullied still, whate'er our fate; 
Better suffering till death 
Than hope in sin for happiness." 
Decisive, in honest w^orth ! 



155 

Ronald received this last message 

With a deep and bitter curse : 

He could not buy her he cared for ; 

Drifted from bad to worse. 

About this time he came to me; 

Perhaps he heard, it was said, 

My heart was changed ; for God had touched 

My heart and I had been led 

To give myself to Him. Perhaps 

Ronald feared I would betray 

Some secrets of his life I held, 

In this newly entered way. 

But what I knew, by confidence, 

I had no right to e'er speak, 

I felt ; thus fully assured him. 

He believed me and did seek 

My friendship as in days gone past; 

But I shrank from him ; unsaid 

I left the words that might have brought 

Salvation; perhaps have led 

This erring one from paths of sin. 

He would have listened to me 

When he w^ould not to another. 



15G 

Ah! this, then, I did not see. 

Strange! not to speak this precious thing 

Blame me, for I am to blame ! 

He saved my life and I let him 

Go forth unsaved ; it is shame 

No word was spoken that might bear 

In eternity some fruit. 

It was my first of Christian life, 

Still the seed had taken root, 

Deep, very deep, in life and heart. 

Yet I let this former friend, 

In my abhorrence for his sins, 

Go, I know not to what end. 

I left New Hampshire's scenes to dwell 

Far from my earlier home. 

To form new ties, to find new friends. 

In earnest work-days to come ; 

More than six years went swiftly by: 

No word came to me of him 

Till I returned to see again 

Mem'ry's fair scenes, far from dim, 

And find so many changes made. 

'Twas strange, but as I returned 

In the deep forest he was found. 



157 

Near where our camp-fire once burned, 
A skeleton upon the ground. 



RONALD'S GRAVE. 

He died where autumn leaves fell, 

Wand'ring and drifted as his life 

Had been. Fit shroud ; it is well 

They should enfold and cover him. 

Then came winter's snows to hide 

Him from all sight through months of cold, 

Then spring came ; and all beside 

Was springing into life renewed ; 

He only stirred not; but still, 

In death's embrace, from mortal eye 

Was hid; where wood-thrushes trill 

Among the darkest forest aisles. 

And within the blacker shade 

Of Joe English mount, where he saved 

My life. Here, while summer staid, 

The remains of Ronald Warland, 

Once brave soldier boy, was found; 

The end of all the earthly way 

Is seen, a turfed, lowly mound. 



158 

POSTLUDE. 

O pine of the mountain, I hear your refrain; 
In gloomy array; the winter wind wild 
Is whisp'ring and sobbing again and again, 
As a sad mother wails o'er the death of a child. 
O evergreen heart of the forest so old, 
Was the life of a mortal lost in yon glen? 
How you shiver and sigh in the darkness and 

cold : — 
"His life was lost among the children of men ! " 



O brave, sturdy oak, as you shake your red 

leaves. 
Defiant, reliant, yet full of good cheer, 
Tell me, O tell me, while autumn gales breathe 
Through all your wide reaches, of life that is 

dear : — 
Was the life of a mortal lost in this place ? 
O stout heart of the forest, speak once again ! 
"Ah ! we wished him but good and all of his 

race, 
His life was lost among the children of men." 



159 

O lithe, graceful elm, thickly tasseled and 

plumed, 
But not with the sable that waves o'er our 

dead, 
In keeping with flowers that so sweetly have 

bloomed 
In paths of the presence whose coming we 

dread ; 
Strong heart of the forest, in gleaming array, 
With leaves of the color of ripe, golden grain, 
You, too, are sighing for the life of the clay, 
That has fled, lost among the children of men. 



I have shown you pictures vernal, born from 

from out the dusts of time. 
Springing up in light or darkness, not seared 

by the chilling rime 
That has faded many blossoms 'mid the scenes 

I touch so true. 
Warmed by little rays of sunshine, brightened 

by the drops of dew ; 



160 

Flowers whose life must be eternal, though 

we see them not to-day, 
Yet we know the light shall bring them 

breaking through each band of clay, 
In the morning to awaken, if the day be 

glorious light, 
From the folding of the earth-clods to the 

robes of purest white. 




"- '-^ END OF LIFE PICTURES. 



161 



OTHER 

MISCELLANEOUS 

POEMS. 



163 



MISCONCEPTION, 



I wrote a rhyme 

In precious time, 
Time that was given to God, 

From darkness to light 

It went in its flight, 
Sealed W'ith the seal of His word. 

The Spirit's voice 

Was strong in its choice, 
And the love of God was there ; 

On mission sent. 

With pure intent, 
It went with fervent prayer. 



The world or sin 
Must enter in, 
With sinuous wisdom dare, 



164 

As to Eve of old 
A meaning unfold 
Untrue to light and unfair. 

Your heart you may give 

And faithfully live, 
And your words be true as steel, 

But some will try 

And make a lie 
From the best you say or feel. 

God knoweth the heart, 

'Twill comfort impart 
And nerve in the righteous cause; 

Be loving and true, 

He loveth you, 
Loving, fulfilment of laws. 

Write and unfold 

In words of gold, 
What God has given to shine ; 

False measure won't bend, 

The truth in the end. 
When covered with His plumb-line. 



165 



GOING FOR THE COW, 



As in childhood burns the sunset 

In its orange, crimson glow, 
And I hear the lowing cattle, 

While the shadows longer grow ; 
Then the present seems but dreaming, 

As of yore the breezes blow, 
Scented by the wild wood blossoms, 

While I'm iroina- for the cow. 



Oh ! the woods of pine and hemlock. 

Where the violets used to grow, 
Carpeted with fragrant needles 

'Neath the branches sweeping low ; 
Ah ! the summer air is heavy. 

As again I breathe it now. 
Laden with the olden balsam. 

As I'm going for the cow. 



166 

Oh ! the silken, flossy mosses, 

That my bare feet used to know, 
'Mong the tangled alder thickets 

Swaying softly, swaying slow ; 
And the white and feath'ry birches, 

Moving gently to and fro 
In the slanting gold of sunset. 

While I'm going for the cow. 

Oh ! the robins in the maples 

Singing sweetly, singing clear, 
And the mew and song of catbird 

With its echo yet is here; 
And the cheery, merry whistle 

Of the boy still at the plow, 
Ringing through the aisles of mem'ry, 

While I'm going for the cow. 

Oh ! the precious springtime blossoms, 

From the fields of long ago. 
Where the mayflowers of my childhood, 

With its roses sweetly blow ; 
Oh ! the brook my bare feet cooling, 

^Nlurm'ring softly, murm'ring low, 



167 

With its l^anks of elder blossoms, 
While I'm going for the cow. 

Ftainter, fainter grows the sunset, 

And its colors flee away, 
And the twilight throws its shadows 

Ever darker, cold and gray ; 
And the vision of my childhood 

In the present fading now 
Brings the boy to manhood's stature, 

No more going for the cow. 




168 



'' HE WILL GIVE GRACE AND GLORY." 



O the wonderful glory of God, 

Shining in Jesus, our blessed Lord, 

Shining out from His life-breathing Word, 

Shining out and shining in 

Whene'er the lost soul we seek and win ; 

the wonderful glory of God, 

Living and growing. 

Shining and glowing. 
In the life of His life-giving Word. 

O the riches of grace He hath given, 
Abundant for earth, leading to heaven, 
Making the narrow pathway so even ; 
Lifting o'er each rocky place ; 
Wonderful, wonderful love and grace ! 
the grace and glory He hath given; 

Trusting Him wholly, 

Loving so fully, 
The pathway more bright, it neareth heaven. 



169 



BEAUTIFUL LIPS. 



"Beautiful lips are those whose words 
Spring from the heart like song of birds, 
And yet whose utterance prudence girds." 

" How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet 
of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth 
peace ; that bringeth good tidings of good, that pub- 
lisheth salvation ; that saith unto Zion, Thy God 
reigneth."— Isaiah 52:7. 



Let lips have the rarest curving 
Like the swelling arch of Cupid's bow, 
Chiseled like a Grecian goddess 
Smiling from a face of Parian snow ; 



Let them have the finest limning, 
Let the matchless hand of Nature give 
More than pictured, pouting sweetness 
Held by Raphael, lei them glow and live ; 



170 

If their arch is not the gateway 
Of a loving, pure and faithful soul, 
They may please the eye artistic, 
But they lose as we behold the whole. 

Beautiful lips are those that sweetly 
Guard the wealth of a loyal heart, 
That in faithful self-denial 
Shall most richly to the world impart. 

Lips that give the precious message, 
Glowing with a pure and holy flame 
Lit by coal from off the altar, 
Filled with praising of His Blessed Name. 

Beautiful lips, whose luUabys 
Softly shall float o'er the cradled world, 
Loving lips whose teachings lead 
Where the banner of truth is unfurled. 

Beautiful lips of the mother 

Teaching prayer to the child at her knee; 

Beautiful lips of darling child, 

Smiling and sunny, lovingly free. 



171 

Beautiful lips are comforting 
The sick, the fevered, the dying one, 
Softly soothing the unstrung nerves, 
Brightening the way so nearly done. 

Beautiful lips make glad the home, 
Beautiful lips are true on the street, 
From them come the best that is known, 
And swiftly borne by beautiful feet. 






172 



THE CLASS MEETING. 



Emmanuel! God with us! 
Low each head was bowed in prayer, 
And each heart Hke David's harp 
Was strung with chords of gold ; 
Then in music sweet was swept 
The strings. He whose skillful hand 
Brought forth into breathing life 
Words and notes of praise and prayer 
Was a son of David's line, 
And, like David, was a King, 
More than all the Son of God. 

Then the aged leader spoke ; 
Out the fullness of his heart 
His lips coined words of o'erflow. 
E'en the Word of Life he read 
Like most precious jewels dropped, 
Shining clear in liquid light, 



173 

Into the ready casket 
Of the heart, open to receive-; 
And the voice grew full and sweet 
Within, in harmony with God. 

One by one each answered then ; 
Sons and daughters beloved 
Of the hving God and King, 
Lovers of the house of prayer ; 
While the kindled fire within 
Purely purged away the dross, 
Showing the image reflected, 
The Refiner, in each joy, 
Each hope, each fear; all in Him 
Blent as one, else incomplete. 



174 



THE MESSAGE OF PRAYER. 



Heart of prayer, my heart sends greeting 

Message full of holy love, 
You will know it 'neath the pinion. 

Of the Spirit's heavenly Dove. 



You will find it bound with slender 
Cords of golden light and gleam ; 

They're strong but do not cut them, 
Keep them sacred, as they seem. 



They were woven midst deep longings 
Of a soul who loves thy soul. 

They were tempered by the Spirit 
To a finished, perfect whole. 



175 
They are prayer cords, and the message 

They have held is fraught with joy 
In the gladness of its answer, 

In its freedom from alloy. 

In the time to come let nothing 

Mar this life of God within ; 
Prayer friend, let me feel thee with me 

For some other soul to win. 

Oh ! we know not how God worketh. 

Yet w^e tremble with delight 
When His glory shines upon us, 

When a soul receives its sight. 

Could we lose sight of our weakness. 

Surely resting on His word, 
In the strength of answered prayer, then, 

We should stay upon the Lord. 

Sanctified, in Christ abiding, 

For His dear name, His dear sake. 

Shall not faith claim some straying brother, 
Love's unerring choice to make ? 



176 

Then in close and fervent clasping, 
In a compact fast and true, 

Let our hands meet warm together. 
Every prayer-tie to renew. 




17: 



ELFIE'S LETTER. 



Elfie, dear Elfie, o'er the sea, 
Soon, again I will come to thee. 
Years have gone since last we met. 
Bat, dear heart, remembered yet 
Is the troth we plighted there 
In the days of life so fair 
When God's call led me far away, 
And duty's call to vou was "stav." 



Elfie, I bore God's word with me 
To heathen lands o'er the sea. 
Wealth I have not struggled to gain 
Lest my life should be all invain ; 
Weary and worn, from o'er the sea. 
Soon, again I will come to thee ; 
That you are still as true as truth. 
Though you, as I, have lost your youth. 



■ 178 

That you love me now as of old, 

As when to you my love I told, 

I know, your heart could ne'er grow cold. 

Precious to me, far more than gold. 



Dear Elfie, coming, coming now. 

And hand in hand we soon shall bow, 

To know a sunset without gloom, 

Richer, dearer than fervent noon ; 

Sweet hours, when night only draweth nigh 

To brighten the stars in our sky ; 

Elfie, dear Elfie, o'er the sea. 

Swiftly I am coming to thee. 






179 



THE INDWELLING CHRIST, 



"I in them, Tl^u in Me, tliat they may be made 
perfect in one."— St. John 17:23. 

Born of Christ's love ! Richer, fuller 

Than I ever knew in days of old 

Is the knowledge of indwelling 

Of the Christ, that my heart now enfolds. 

Not in hours of quiv'ring raptnre 
Would I, dare I look for a reward ; 
Only not to mar the working 
Of Thy will, Redeemer, ^Tshi, Lord ! 

If 'mid sorrows I am walking 

Still Thy will shall be my all in all; 

In the brightness of Thy rising 

Throw aside each dark and deathly pall ! 

* This word signifies the closest divine union, 
as tliat of husband and wife. 



ISO 

While the world seems full of echoes 
Of a past I ne'er would live again, 
Thou hast cleansed away my sin-stains, 
Thou alone can change the hearts of men. 

If in suffering by the hatred 
Of the men w^hose hearts are far from Thee, 
Fill me full with prayer and loving, 
Only let Thy will be done in me. 

Would I seek for power of riches, 

When Thou knew not where to lay Thy head ? 

I will not refuse to trust Thee, 

And Thy hand shall give my daily bread. 

Let me not in self be centered. 
Ever let my life be hid in Thee, 
Thou hast blest my soul with blessing, 
Thou, Thyself, hath come to dwell in me. 

Deeper, truer, may my life-stream 

In Thy will, safe channeled, flow most free, 

That a life of Thine indwelling 

Blend and weld my soul fore'er with Thee. 



181 



DEATH OF BABY. 



"Bunty, my precious, my darling one, 

1 hear in my chamber your pattering feet. 
Your tiny hands to the bedside cHng, 
Your eyes are smihng in mine, baby sweet ; 
But papa is sick, and baby, too. 

You are far from well, that dreadful cough 
Has shaken and worn your tender frame. 
Though you playfully peep and sweetly laugh. 

Bunty, m}' darling, my precious one, 

How, then, could I dream you would drift away, 

While I, lying in sickness and pain, 

In the shadow of death, yet here must stay ? 

O baby dear, how sick you had grown. 

Too weak to smile to my heart you were pressed, 

'Twas the farewell time, though I knew it not, 

Your head should be pillowed upon my breast. 

* A pet name. 



182 

Bunty, my precious, my darling one! 
Is it the stars that are weeping to-night ? 
How faint they are growing, but now I know 
'Tis my own tears that are dimming my sight. 
The stars did not lose, it was I that lost, 
Gone from my chamber the pattering feet ! 
Your laugh, like the chiming music of bells, 
Gone ! the smiling eyes no longer I meet. 

baby, my darling, my precious child, 

So near to the brink of the river I lay 

When the angels pressed through the shades of 

night, 
To bear you across to the glorious day. 
Is it strange I heard their music swell 
Afar in the distance, then nearer come, 
And a deep, sweet peace and a heavenly rest 
Should fall on my soul as they paused in your 



Bunty, my darling, my precious one ! 

1 heard the music softly, sweetly die. 
Then out on the night air shuddering rang 
A heart-wruno; mother's sad and waiUng crv. 



18P, 

The spirit so loved and loving soul 
With tlie angel band passed the curtain un- 
furled, 
The mother was missing her darling boy ; 
Heaven gained, but a man was lost to the world ! 

Bunty, my darling, my precious one ! 

It was no dream of night or fevered brain 
When wakened to hear, from refreshing sleep. 
That unearthly sweet and comforting strain ; 

1 heard it come and go ; tlie mother's cry ; 
And when I questioned, they led her to me ; 
Her head was laid on my shoulder at rest. 
With heaving breast, her tears flowed fast and 

free. 

O Bunty, my darling, my precious one ! 
That night I wept not, the Comforter came ; 
Above the sorrows of earth I was rocked 
In Arms Everlasting ; blest be His name ! 
His promises came again and again ; 
Coupled with that wonderful rythmic flow; 
They lifted me n\) to a purer realm ; 
For I had heard the angels come and go. 



]fu 



EVENING REST, 



"Earth is my footstool."— Isaiah 6G:1. 
"And the place of my feet I will make glor; 
ous."— Isaiah 60:1o. 

Sinking down where the shores of night 
Are banks of rich crimson and gold 
Edging a sea of purple light 
Is the cmdled sun, shining bright, 
Gilding the rocks of the mountains old, 
The toi>s of the trees a golden-green, 
Shading, lighting the lovely scene ; 

And the spirit of song 

And the spirit of prayer 

Springing up from the heart 

Floats on the evening air; 

And I rest at his feet 

On his promises sweet. 

The earth is his footstool, 

And the place of his feet 

He hath made glorious. 



185 

I would shine for Him with glory 
Reflected that holds back the night ; 
Fearless tell the wondrous story- 
How sin and self, care and worry 
Are sunk in the crimson; and light 
From the heavenly sun of love 
Gilds the wings of an earth-born dove, 

Which had so lowly lain 

Among the pots and ware. 

Broken and little worth, 

Sad relics of earth-care ; 

Yes ! I rest at his feet, 

On His promises sweet. 

The earth is His footstool, 

And the place of His feet 

He hath made glorious. 

I drink of the Fountain of Life, 
I am covered with crimson glow, 
I am hid from sorrowful strife, 
Or things with which the world is rife, 
In the sea of His wondrous love, 
In the shining rays from above ; 
In His love I abide, 



186 



Watching, watching the sun 
Sinking at eventide; 
Loving the Crucified One. 
Yes, I rest at His feet 
On His promises sweet! 
The earth is His footstool, 
And the place of His feet 
He hath made glorious. 



18/ 



THE YEAR IS DYING. 



The year is dying. I can see the hectic flush 
Mantling the hillside and soft glowing from 

the trees, 
As in consumption's first the cheeks feverish 

blush, 
The brightly glist'ning eye, half deceive and 

still please, 
But yet so surely speak decay and wasting 

loss; 
So in the bright, red-splashed, frost-turned 

leaves I must know 
That outward beauty shall become as merely 

dross 
When golden-crowned, liarmonious life shall 

cease to flow. 

I see the dress of foliage in varied hues ; 
In lowly and in sheltered place the green 
remains, 



188 

As if the early bloom of life it still would 

choose, 
To stay unchanged through frosts and time, 

and still retains 
The sober but the ever pleasing hue of health ; 
And on the lower branches of the lithe elm 

tree, 
A golden drift of wave on wave, in seeming 

wealth, 
Tossed on the autumn air so sweeping, bold 

and free. 

Higher I see the gold is tinged with russet 

brown ; 
Here life has met the wave receding from the 

shore. 
And one by one, each hold relaxed, comes 

whirling down 
To soon return to parent dust, and known no 

more. 
'Tis here the lesson of the earth so sadly reads, 
Youth, manhood and old age shall sureh^ die. 
In the dread struggle hopeless to supjjly their 

needs, 
Till death is peace, and life the echo of a sigh. 



189 

Dewy yet clear, the eye of faith shall see the 

leaves, 
Billowed and winrowed on the wind-swept 

ground, 
In life fulfilled in tree or flower, or golden 

sheaves 
Of grain, to die and live again and more 

abound, 
" Die and increase ! " I hear a resurrection 

hail ; 
" There may be change ! " with sorrows tears 

our eyes are dim ; 
But as we lift them up a hand sweeps back 

the veil: — 
" He giveth all a form as best it pleaseth Him ! " 



^ i^ -^ -^ 

■^ ^ ^ 



190 



THE BRIDE OF DAY. 



O'er the hills with stately pace, 
Moving in a ling'ring march, 

Gazing, with an upturned face, 
At the banded stellar arch ; 

Sprinkled, spangled, gem-bedight. 

Bright Day's dark and glorious bride 

In the mantle of the Night 
Golden-fringed on either side. 

Hearing voices never heard 
Save in deep, mysterious gloom. 

When the heart of Nature's stirred, 
By sweet Sympathy attuned. 

Dropping tears like diamond spray 
Where her trailing robe is seen 



191 

Tarrying for the coming Day ; 
From whose fervent, fiery mien 

She must flee or melt away. 

Lingering, his lightest kiss 
Turns her ghastly pale and grey ; 

It is death, though light and bliss. 

Falls the mantle from her form, 
Meeting on the threshold fair 

When the roseate clouds of morn 
Towers al)ove the mists of air. 

Meeting there her heart is gone, 
Nothing left but merge in him. 

Naught of darkness after dawn. 
Fled the mists and shadows grim. 

Voices of the day are there, 
Voices that may none affright, 

O'er those portals, soft and clear. 
Float the voices of the light. 



THE END. 



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